§uibmjj $f (SJowpw. 



UJNZTED STATES OF AMERICA. 




V 



EXPOSITION 



OF 



THE FALSE MEDIUM 



%vl& Barriers 



EXCLUDING MEJ OF GENIUS 



FROM THE PUBLIC. 






" What centuries of unjust deeds are here 



LONDON: 

PUBLISHED BY 

EFFINGHAM WILSON, ROYAL EXCHANGE. 

1833. 






BRADBURY AND EVANS, WHITEFRIARS; 
(LATE T. DAVISON.) 



EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, 

a patriot, 

AND 

A MAN OF GENIUS, 

THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE INSCRIBED. 



CONTENTS. 



STATEMENT OF FACTS. 

I. Exordium 1 

II. Of Epic Poets and Philosophers . . 5 
III. Of Authors in general . . . .12 
IV. Disappointed Authors . . . .35 
V. Of Dramatic Authors . . . . .41 
VI. Of Composers, and instrumental Per- 
formers .48 

VII. Of Actors and Singers . . . .56 

VIII. Of Novelists, and how to write a success- 
ful Novel ..... ,65 
IX. Of Painters and Sculptors . . .73 
X. Men of Science, and original Projectors 

and Inventors . . . . .84 

XI. The March of Intellect . . . .104 

EXPOSITION OF CAUSES. 

I. General View .10.5 

II. Defence of the Higher Orders . . .117 

III. Our own Times .... .126 

IV. Anatomy of false Oracles . . . .133 



H CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

V. The British Drama and Theatres : .184 

VI. The Royal Academy 224 

VII. Science, Learning, and Colleges . . 234 

VIII. Of Publishers 244 

IX. Of Private and Public Judgment . . 252 

THE REMEDY. 276 

Exhortation . 306 



STATEMENT OF FACTS. 

I. 

Exordium. — A common stone meets with more 
ready patronage than a man of genius. It may be 
said to have its social home and proper place of 
refuge in some Society, expressly established for its 
discovery, polishing, classification, preservation, 
&c, and all its numerous claims to notice and 
learned consideration, are admitted instantly ; but 
Genius is " sui generis," and a homeless outcast by 
general consent, during the full term of its natural 
life. Driven through the inhospitable desert of 
mortality, or tossed upon its bleak and stormy 
seas, the man of genius finds at length a haven 
in posterity ; and there, after the due course of 

B 



precedence has fulfilled its progressive order, his 
claim also is gradually admitted; the tenacious world 
being quite sure that he is dead "as any stone." 

If the complex laws which direct and govern the 
intricate workings of the human mind, could but 
for a given period admit of a practical continuity 
to the feelings which are excited in most meifs 
natures upon reading accounts of the long-suffer- 
ing, fortitude, and desolate death-bed of all those 
whose wisdom, virtue, and extraordinary intellect 
have made posterity their eternal debtors ; would 
not the whole mass of humanity rise up, as with 
one accord, to establish a community by whose 
steady arrangements such ungrateful and mon- 
strous results should be at once superseded, and 
the barbarous anomaly made human for ever after? 
It seems, however, we are otherwise constituted ; 
since nothing beyond an admission of the wrong, 
and the relief of our feelings in giving vent to 
indignant expressions, has ever yet transpired ; 
although the same wretched fate has always pur- 
sued and attended men of genius, since the wan- 
dering days of Homer. 



In vain, as relates to his own advantage, has 
a man made the most important discoveries in 
Science: on the contrary, his reward has always 
been profusely paid in persecution, and the current 
coin of calumny, or ridicule. We have seen this 
conduct pursued towards the greatest Astronomers; 
we have seen a similar patronage bestowed upon 
the chief promoters of original knowledge in 
Natural History ; in Medicine ; in Chemistry ; in 
Mechanics, &c. ; and if this has been the case 
with sciences that depend upon demonstrable phy- 
sical facts, what wonder that it should have been 
the same with Philosophy or Metaphysics? The 
more important the truth, the more opposition it 
has met with, and every distress {that lay in the 
world's power) has been accumulated round its 
advocate in return, with a promptitude that we 
very rarely see manifested in a good cause of any 
kind. Error always has its armed hosts, and 
in all great discoveries prevails over the few oppo- 
nent voices longer than the average period^ even of 
an imperturbed human life. Posterity is then said 

b 2 



to do men justice ! What ! with a forced admis- 
sion and acknowledgment of the value of their 
life's labour, after that life has been extinguished 
amidst penury, neglect, and oppression ! 

" Look at the Biography of Authors ! Except 
the Newgate Calendar, it is the most sickening 
chapter in the history of man." And these are the 
beings to whom the world is intrinsically indebted 
for the highest good: not to the vain-glorious crowd 
whose multitudinous names, deeds, and powers, 
throng with destruction through the panoramic 
generations of the past. 

Poetry, Ethics, History, the Fine Arts, and 
Science in every department, how highly are they 
applauded and encouraged ! But the men, who are 
their Creators, are left to shift for themselves, and die 
how they may. The comprehensive motto is, < Do 
all you can for mankind : mankind have established 
a rule to do nothing for you ! ' What is the creative 
principle of the present march of intellect ? Is it not 
solely to be attributed to men of genius and ability ? 
If the above heartless conduct is continued, the 
March of Intellect becomes a Universal Type 



of the innate ingratitude and meanness of our 
human nature ! 

But the present Exposition is not merely intended 
as a recapitulation of the distressing lives and fates 
of those, whose lofty names in Martyrdom the world 
bow down to, without blushing for themselves ; it is 
not only a Choephorae in its libations to their hal- 
lowed tombs, but a retribution upon the oppres- 
sors' heads ; both past and present ; an analysis 
and elucidation of the causes of these evils ; and 
a condensed appeal to the collected now of ages, 
in the hope of calling a fresh and startled atten- 
tion to the vast heap of gigantic facts that stag- 
nate and choke up the struggling current of 
long-enduring humanity. 



II. 

Of Epic Poets and Philosophers. — " Know 
thyself" said the Greek sage ; and he was worthy 
of being called wise, if he had never uttered any- 
thing beside that laconic volume. 



" Seven cities claim the birth of Homer dead, 
Thro' which the living Homer begg'd his bread." 

Dante was imprisoned, banished, and sentence 
of death passed upon him if he ever returned to 
his country. Had Shakspeare been an epic poet, 
we should have been almost induced to believe that 
his banishment had been more especially effected 
to prove the consistency of Ignorance with respect 
to writers of that class. As it is, however, we have 
to conclude that he was outlawed, merely to make 
good the Charter by virtue of which the highest 
genius is held, and as though to show that the 
world's accustomed rule of conduct towards its 
most extraordinary benefactors, could admit of no 
exception. If Milton had depended for his bread 
upon the emolument to be derived from Paradise 
Lost, or any of his other poems, it is quite clear 
that he would have starved. His long life of 
literary labour, whether in keeping a day-school, or 
in the exercise of his sublime intellect, never pro- 
duced for him anything beyond the ordinary means 
of existence. Chaucer was obliged to fly the 
country, owing to a political disturbance, and 



directly he ventured to return, was thrown into 
prison. Spencer's poverty and ruined hopes, 
form a long and melancholy story. 

We shall speak of ancients and moderns, indis- 
criminately, because men of genius belong to all 
times and countries, 

Socrates, Seneca, Longinus, Boetius, &c. were all 
murdered with barbarous, systematic cruelty ; their 
only crimes being their wisdom and virtue. Their 
fortitude measured the baseness of their execu- 
tioners with a smile. These unnatural tragedies, 
however well known, cannot be too often mentioned. 
Would that they could be invariably written upon 
the sky at noonday ! Anaxagoras was condemned to 
die ; his chief offence being an attempt to promulgate 
a higher conception of the Divine Mind than hea- 
thenism tolerated. This was considered as impiety. 
He, however, treated his sentence of death as a 
puerility, saying, " it had been pronounced upon 
him by Nature long ago." When asked if he would 
have his remains conveyed to his own country, he 
declined the favour, remarking " that it would not 
shorten the distance to the other side of the grave.'* 



Probably this high stoicism had quite as much 
effect as the eloquent pleading of Pericles ; and he 
was banished instead # . Zeno, the Eleatic, appears 
to have been put to the torture, and to have endured 
it with unshaken resolution ; and Aristotle, after 
long persecution, (his life being often in danger) 
according to Suidas, took poison. Julius Canius f 
for his superior wisdom was condemned and suf- 
fered death — which he met with equal superiority. 

We shall not pause to enumerate the host of 
great names that rise to our memory, having men- 
tioned the greatest ; yet with respect to Poets, we 
cannot refrain from alluding to the persecution, 
imprisonment, and sufferings of many more — nearly 
all the rest, we might have said — nor to the Italian 
captain of banditti who kissed the hand of Tasso 
when he had fallen into his power, after being 
driven into exile by the Prince. 

Camoens, after passing a life of dangerous vicis- 
situdes, and meeting with no reward, either for his 

* Diogenes Laertius. Plut. in Nicia, &c. 
t Seneca, De Tranquil, c. 1 4. 



9 

acknowledged poetical genius, or for his military 
services and wounds, was supported during his 
latter days by the begging of a slave who had pre- 
viously saved him from shipwreck, and who con- 
tinued faithful to him amidst hunger and misery. 
Camoens died of penury and disease in an alms- 
house *. 

His epitaph conveys a severe reproach, which we 
ought all of us to feel, for there is no saying how 
near our own times may " turn out" to resemble 
his. " Here lies Louis de Camoens. He excelled 
all the poets of his time. He lived poor and 
miserable, and he died so." A few years after- 
wards, a high-sounding inscription was engraved 
upon the same tomb ! This was an example of 
the utter absence of conscience and shame ! There 
are many similar instances. The epitaph upon the 
Persian poet Ferdausi, who met the usual fate, is 
more definitely pointed. " When the great Sultan 
died, all his power and glory departed from him ; 

* This is disputed by some biographers, who affirm that 
he died in " his own miserable hovel close to the church/ ' 
Set Strangjord's Life of Camoens. 

b3 



10 

and nothing remained whereby he could be recol- 
lected, except this single historical fact — that he 
knew not the worth of Ferdausi ! " 

We were about to observe, however, that the 
writers of epic poems are a class distinct from all 
other authors ; although part of what follows will 
equally apply to great Moralists and Metaphy- 
sicians. They devote themselves to a sublime 
application of the result of profound feeling and 
knowledge, and a severe examination of their own 
power; their fame, even as their inspiration, is 
more lofty and apart from their human condition 
with all its contingencies, and they do not hunger 
for the vain-glory of immediate applause. They 
" know themselves,'" and do not seek to be ad- 
mired by the million of the day. They must be 
content to wait in the tomb for the secure reward 
of leaden-footed posterity. 

The reflections that arise from the above view 
of the heirs of immortality, must excite a melan- 
choly sense of the innate grandeur of the chosen of 
Humanity, in those readers whose imagination and 
sensibility can sympathise with the picture in all 



11 

its vital bearings. They cannot but see that the 
highest gifts of intellect, only lead to a martyrdom 
from the meanest causes — stones instead of bread. 
The reflection should make us scorn the setting up 
of the posthumous monument, viewing it as a mere 
epitome of mankind's imbecility, and a selfish salvo 
to the conscience of Ingratitude. 

But setting aside this marble-hearted love — to 
men capable of erecting stupendous idealisms of 
moral power, we can only give a solemn warning in 
the tremendous language of Shelley in his address 
to Time : 

Unfathomable sea ! whose waves are years ; 
Ocean of Time ! whose waters of deep woe 

Are brackish with the salt of human tears ! 

Thou shoreless flood, which in thy ebb and flow 

Claspest the limits of Mortality ! 

And sick of prey, yet howling on for more, 
Vomitest thy wrecks on its inhospitable shore, 
Treacherous in calm, and terrible in storm, 
Who shall put forth on thee, 
Unfathomable sea ? 



12 



III. 



Or Authors in general. — In the fresh spring 
time of our existence ; when the eagle wing of sun- 
ward hope is strenuous in the glorious dawn, and 
the rich and rosy dews fall heavy on the opening 
flower that begems the path over which, with 
swelling bosom and unbaffled energies, we bound 
with feet that feel not the earth beneath them, while 
the voice is uplifted in full enjoyment of Nature's 
free and heartfelt presence — it is a good thing to be 
a ploughman. But to become an Author, is to 
poison the sacred draught of heaven, and to bring 
down Olympus in desolate ruins over the highway 
of life ! Under what stupendous dreams are all 
his hopes buried for ever ! To till the whole- 
some earth, and reap the tawny harvest of the 
year^ is a somewhat sturdy task " in the eye of 
Phoebus," and often felt to be a heavy manual toil : 
but it hath no certain heart-aches for its reward ; 
and is a blythe and jocund labour, compared with 



13 

his, who through the painful day, and dead en- 
during night, struggles and yearns towards the goal 
of Immortality. The energies of his heart, are as 
the horses of the sun — his course around the vast 
empyrean, is at length accomplished— his reward, is 
squalid human misery ; with giant despair striding 
forwards in the clearing distance ! 

The labours of an Author are far more grievous 
than those attending the humblest occupations of 
mankind. The manufacturer, who sits at his Ixion- 
like task, from twelve to sixteen hours a day, never 
began with the hopes of an Author ; never had such 
prospects as his imagination has often shown him 
was his forthcoming reward. But fresh moun- 
tains rise at every eminence he has surmounted ; he 
finds that his capability, both natural and hard- 
earned, is a thing apart from ' the nick of time,' 
which gives success ; and beset with hydra-headed 
difficulties and opponents (besides being made the 
bye-word of all his acquaintance) the object ever 
seen, never reached, he thus grows grey and infirm. 
Such is his life ; he dies in penury and wretched- 
ness ; and it is well if his wife and children do not 



14 

have the horror of seeing his corpse seized by his 
matter-of-fact, lawful, respectable creditors, ' who 
have been too patient with him all along, or they 
would not have been placed in such a disagreeable 
situation ! ' 

The above is a bitter literal picture; and the 
trampled feelings and profound thoughts that may 
be said to constitute the foreground, are only com- 
pensated in the abstract, by the glorious edifice 
dimly seen in the hazy distance, with the possible 
apotheosis of its human architect. Humanity drops 
tears of blood over the obscure and lonely grave, 
where intellectual Passion lies cold and consumed 
away ; while slow in the ascendant majesty of time, 
the mighty Promethean shadow begins its resurrec- 
tion towards sublime futurity ! 

An Author devotes the incessant efforts of his 
whole life, and amidst every worldly difficulty; either 
of which, commonly induces bodily sickness and 
premature infirmity ; in order to produce works of 
which the world reaps the benefit. The world's 
reply in return for this, is concise and conclusive — 
6 Starve— rot — and we will feast upon your Re- 
mains r 



15 

To be banished or imprisoned, is among the 
lighter part of the hardships to which genius has 
ever been subject. Demosthenes, Cicero, Ovid, 
&c. were banished. The former was eventually 
driven to poison himself. How painful are the letters 
of Cicero to his family ! There is a passage in 
one of them, w r here he says, " I wish for nothing 
but to see you, and to expire in your arms, since 
both gods and men are equally insensible, and 
overlook all our services ; the former disregarding 
the purity of our reverence and adoration, the 
latter forgetting all that I have done for my 
country and fellow-citizens." — " I know not what 
condition you may be in; whether you have any 
means left, or are stript of everything * ! " He 
was finally condemned to death, and slaughtered 
while endeavouring to effect his escape. The 
above writers, however, more particularly Ovid, 
betrayed great weakness of character under their 
sufferings, and we would far rather allude to the 
towering conduct of Dante; who, when proposi- 

* Letter to his wife Terentia, to Tullia and Cicero, his 
children. 



16 

tions were made for his return, with every worldly 
advantage, provided he would compromise his 
principles, disdainfully refused, sternly concluding 
his answer, with the hope that " in the mean time 
he should not want for bread." 

66 Plautus, the comic poet, lived by turning a 
mill-wheel. Xelander sold, for a little broth, his 
Commentary upon Dion Cassius. Aldus Manu- 
tius was so poor that he was rendered insolvent, 
merely by the small sum he borrowed to enable 
him to transport his library from Venice to Rome. 
Sigismund Galenius, John Bodinus, Lelio Giraldo, 
Ludovico Castelvetro, Archbishop Usher, and a 
multitude of other learned men, died in poverty. 
And how melancholy is it to see Cardinal Benti- 
voglio, the ornament of Italy and the belles lettres, 
and the benefactor of the poor, after so many 
important services rendered to the public by his 
embassies and his writings, languishing in poverty 
in his old age, selling his palace to pay his 
debts, and dying without leaving wherewithal to 
bury him # ! " 



* Vigneul Marvilliana. Constat). MisceL, vol. x. 



17 

We have presumed to honour our pages by 
placing this nobleman's head in the frontispiece. 

Voltaire was imprisoned in the Bastile, where 
he wrote the greater part of the Henriade. Being 
rich by his own private property, something more 
efficient than neglect or ridicule was requisite for 
his many persecutions. Although Corneille met 
with considerable reward for his writings, he died 
in distress. Rousseau fared much worse; and 
Vaugelas, the elegant scholar, left his corpse to 
be dissected, for the benefit of his creditors ! In 
Spain, there has been abundance of cruel instances. 
It is true we cannot include Garcilaso, or Ancillia 
— both noblemen ; nor Lopez de Vega — a man of 
rank; nor Calderon — why not? — he possessed 
some fine church livings. All the principal historians 
&c, were Jesuits ; and most of them 6 padres mais- 
tres.'* In modern times, the patronage of the 
'literatos,' is chiefly confined to the ecclesiastics. 
As to Germany, we shall content ourselves with 
quoting Weisser's epigram, On the suppression of 
Mendicity. Literally rendered thus : 



18 

How cruel it is of thee, Germany, 

To forbid begging among thy people : 

Thus thou surely takest away from thy best heads, 

The last means of obtaining food * ! 

Yet, although there are but too many instances 
in France during its earlier period of literature, 
they may almost be suffered to pass as melancholy 
exceptions, when compared with the undeviating 
rule that has been observed in England ! Oh, 
favoured island of intellectual glory, to whom have 
you chiefly owed your superiority over other 
nations ? — and how has your gratitude been mani- 
fested ? What has been the life and death of your 
greatest men ? 

Stowe, the learned antiquary and chronicler, 
after passing a life of extraordinary labour amidst 
worldly privations, when in his eightieth year, 
petitioned James the First for a licence to collect 
alms. He received a grant, giving him permis- 
sion to do so during one twelvemonth ! The 
unfortunate old man gained so trifling a sum, that 
he obtained an extension of the period to a second 

* Wie grausam ist's von dir Germanien, &c. 



19 

twelvemonth ! In the first grant, the King may 
be taxed with cruel meanness, or brute insensibi- 
lity ; but the second, looks like " malice prepense !" 
De Lolme's fine work on the English Constitution 
found no encouragement, either from booksellers, 
or, when it was eventually printed, from the public. 
Its author was frequently imprisoned for debt. 
The same neglect attended Drayton's Polyolbion. 
Raleigh's History of the World was written during 
his many years of confinement. Runyan wrote his 
Pilgrim's Progress in a similar situation. De Foe 
was imprisoned in Newgate for some political 
treatise. Rushworth, after receiving the thanks 
of the King, on his restoration, died of a broken 
heart in the King's Rench, " having neglected his 
own affairs for his Historical Collections." 

" Evil is the condition," says Ockley, the orien- 
talist, while imprisoned for debt, " of that historian 
who undertakes to write the lives of others before 
he knows how to live himself ! " Ockley bore his 
hard lot, however, with noble philosophy. He died 
in debt, and left his family in great distress. Yet 
this was the man whose fine enthusiasm was such, 



20 

that, speaking of the Persian language, he exclaims, 
" How often have I endeavoured to perfect myself 
in that language, but my malignant and envious 
stars still frustrated my attempts ; but they shall 
sooner alter their courses than extinguish my reso- 
lution of quenching that thirst, which the little I 
have had of it hath already excited ! " A senti- 
ment that must have made the soul of Zoroaster 
yearn to rise from the womb of ages to assist him. 

A detailed account of nearly all the above bene- 
factors of our ungrateful England will be found in 
Mr. D'Israeli's " Calamities of Authors # ." Two 
entire volumes are filled with these histories of 
undeserved wretchedness, and all of modern times, 
and in our own country ! He might have filled 
more than double that number, with the same 
limitations of time and place; nor would the in- 
stances and information be very difficult to obtain ; 
but how many volumes would it occupy if we could 
give an account, however brief, of all those whose 
sufferings have never come to light ? 

* A fresh edition of this work is greatly wanted, as it has 
become scarce, and difficult to be purchased. 



21 

We extract this harrowing letter from the same 
work. It is enough to appal any young poet who 
has not quite lost his reason in his rhymes. It was 
written by a young gentleman named Pattison. 

" Sir, 

" If you were ever touched with a sense 

of humanity, consider my condition ; what I am, 

my proposals will inform you ; what I have been, 

Sydney College in Cambridge can witness ; but 

what I shall be some few hours hence, I tremble 

to think — spare my blushes — I have not enjoyed 

the common necessaries of life for these two days, 

and can hardly hold to subscribe myself, 

" Yours, &c.*" 

Not enjoyed the common necessaries of life ! 

The following extracts are taken at random 
from the Index; the whole of which ought to 
be engraved on a brazen obelisk, and set up in 
Westminster Abbey, by way of antithesis to the 
monuments ! 

* D'Israeli. The Despair of Young Poets. 



22 

u Collins, publishes his Odes without success, 
and afterwards indignantly burns the edition. — 
Cowley, his remarkable lamentation for having 
written poetry . — Dryden, in his old age, com- 
plains of dying of over-study ; regrets he was 
born among Englishmen. — Grainger's complaint 
of not receiving half the pay of a scavenger! — 
Hume, his literary life how mortified with disap- 
pointments; wished to change his name, and his 
country. — Logan, the history of his literary disap- 
pointments ; dies broken-hearted. — Milton, more 
esteemed" (in the first instance) " by foreigners 
than at home. — Prior, felicitated himself that his 
natural inclination for poetry had been checked. — 
Sale, the learned, often wanted a meal while 
translating the Koran. — Selden, compelled to re- 
cant his opinions, and not suffered to reply to his 
calumniators. — Smollet, confesses the incredible 
labour and chagrin he had endured as an author ! 
—Stowe, the chronicler, petitions to be a licensed 
beggar ! &c. &c." 

Independent of the crowd of melancholy chroni- 
cles, there are few persons who have had a general 



23 

literary acquaintance, under whose actual observa- 
vation, various instances must not have come but too 
palpably. We once called upon an Author, a scholar 
and a man of science, (one who has been of much 

service to Sir R. P ,) who was busily employed, 

in translating a Greek work in one room, while his 
wife was equally so at the washing-tub, in the 
other. The door was half open, and it was impos- 
sible to affect unconsciousness. " You see," said 
he with a smile, that was only of the features, and 
without any illumination from the heart ; " you see 
what it is to be an Author ! Fortunate are those 
who never feel ' a call' — so very few are chosen." 
This is true enough ; and would be right enough 
also, did we not know that merit has nothing to do 
with the choice, until you are chosen ; that is u in 
vogue. " We once knew an author, whose genius 
has since been admitted by the rt fit few," who being 
unable to afford pens, had recourse to a substi- 
tute too painfully ridiculous to be mentioned, and 
* manufactured, " as he said, " half a dozen very 
decent tools !" He was not, however, quite so 
wretchedly circumstanced as poor Savage, who 



24 

wrote at intervals the greater part of his play of 
" Sir Thomas Overbury," when he was without 
lodgings, wandering about the streets, picking up 
bits of blank paper, and then stepping into some 
shop to beg the use of a pen and ink, to write down 
the last speech he had composed. This we learn 
from Dr. Johnson, who was personally intimate 
with him : and the Doctor himself, always poor, 
had once been in circumstances almost as distress- 
ing ; for we find that they often wandered together 
whole nights about the streets, having no money to 
procure lodgings * ! 

The brief and obscure life of Richard Ayton, 
author of " Essays and Sketches of Character, &c," 
(Taylor and Hessey, 1825,) is one of those things 
which comes over the mind with the same feeling as 
a pathetic private recollection. He died in Warren- 
Street, Tottenham Court Road, in great distress, 
at the age of thirty-seven. Those who read the 
above Essays, which possess all the irresistible 
charm of the amiable Goldsmith, with a far deeper 

* Biographia Dramatica. 



25 

understanding, and an original vein of wit, highly 
graphic, yet luminous to the subject, must be inte- 
rested in the man as much as they are delighted 
with the book ; the surest sign of the goodness of 
the writer's heart. And when we consider the pain- 
ful circumstances of his life, and premature descent 
into the cold and lonely grave^ with the unjust 
oblivion to which the world has consigned him, we 
cannot but revert to his character as to that of some 
dear companion of former years, whose familiar 
intercourse had been a charm, and is now a loss 
never to be supplied, and drop a tear to the memory 
of Richard Ayton. 

The instances have become so multiplied, nay, 
universal, that they cease, in most cases, to have a 
legitimate effect upon the hearers. The imagina* 
tion is forestalled by the literal, common-place facts, 
and the sympathy turns by re-action to disgust, 
from provocation at the reiterated, never- satisfied 
tax upon sensibility. The sum-total seems " ad 
infinitum,'' and we are quite tired of the story. 
Upon any fresh instance coming to light, folks now 
say with a peevish sigh, ' They have all met with 

c 



26 

the same f or reply to the tale of woe, with a con- 
clusive reasoning, like that we use when a child 
hurts itself, who was repeatedly " warned not to do 
so," — 6 Then they should not have been Authors." 
In other words, c if they cannot bear to be flayed 
alive, they should not be eels. It was what they 
had to expect, and there is no help for it, but their 
getting used to it V 

This is sorry jesting; and, what is worse, it 
seems all that is left us. The evil has continued for 
generations. But it is not a necessary one ; and a 
strenuous perseverance in efforts directed to a prac- 
tical result, may not be altogether fruitless. 

Let us enter more fully into the facts of the 
subject. 

There is scarcely a " stock-book" in the libra- 
ries of all the booksellers, that was not refused in 
the first instance by the Publishers ! This fate has 
continually attended every great work, and every 
original one ; except the author possessed a previous 
reputation, much wealth, or extraordinary interest. 
All really great works have been looked upon as 
unintelligible lumber, and after performing a painful 



27 

campaign, have returned to the author's hands to 
await the advent of the uncertain "hour ;" and with 
really original ones, the immediate antipathy has 
manifested itself to a degree approaching the ludi- 
crous. The wittiest and most entertaining books, 
whose moral tendency is as sound and beneficial, as 
their humour is rich and refreshing to the dull 
monotony of every-day occurrences, were in the 
first instance, kicked out of every publisher's shop 
in town, as though they (the books) had been 
impertinencies ; while those of an impassioned cha- 
racter have always been " packed off" with a pre- 
cipitation resembling that of firemen getting com- 
bustibles out of a warehouse. The eloquent Burke 
' obtained no fame by any of his fine works, till he 
chanced to take up a popular topic on the right side 
of court patronage. Notwithstanding the genius of 
Byron, seconded by the far more advantageous 
introduction of rank and fortune, his success was not 
gained without a violent struggle. How would his 
Lordship have fared as an obscure individual ? If 
Constable had not been an exception to the race of 
publishers, Scott's novels would probably have run 

c2 



28 

the gauntlet through all the trade. A contingency 
may give speedy popularity to a man of genius, who 
otherwise might have found a premature grave, 
after the melancholy manner of Otway, Chatterton, 
Burns, Logan, Pattison, Carey, White, Keats, 
Ayton, Fletcher, &c. &c. &c. 

The most amiable and entertaining works, full 
of talent and beauty, and " void of offence," have 
shared the common Jot. It must be a regular rule: 
if not, what else could have occasioned the invari- 
able rejection of such charming books as Robinson 
Crusoe, the Vicar of Wakefield, &c. Surely it 
could not have been stupidity ; or if so, there is at 
least the merit of its being the very perfection of 
that rare quality in bibliopolists. Bloomfield's 
Poems were sent from door to door, in the same 
manner. 

Every body remembers the prodigious success of 
the " Rejected Addresses," and they also were, with 
terror, rejected ; so was Beresford's " Miseries of 
Human Life," which sold, as they say in the trade, 
" like wildfire, " directly it appeared. We could 
give a list of rejected works, now popular to the 



29 

highest degree, that, with a very brief accompa- 
nying explanation or comment, would probably fill 
half the pages of the present Exposition. In fact, 
with few exceptions, it would be giving a " black 
list " of all the best works our literature possesses. 

Independent however, of this proved blindness, 
there is also a curious system now adopted by 
publishers, even when the case is reduced to one of 
a palpable, business-like advantage. We will give 
a unique instance, not very easy of solution. 

A gentleman about a twelvemonth since, having 
written what he conceived an original work, offered 
it to a publisher of respectability and capital, toge- 
ther with one hundred guineas — not as an advance, 
or with any view to its being refunded — but purely 
as a compliment to qualify his own want of sufficient 
literary reputation to justify the presumption of 
producing an original work. After due and minute 
consideration, the publisher ; admitting quite as 
much merit and originality as the writer cared to 
hear from him ; declined the offer. The author 
requested to know if there were any objections in a 
political, moral, or religious point of view; as he 



so 

was not aware of it himself? Was the title unfa- 
vourable, for if so, he would change it? " Nothing 
of the kind : the great objection was the style, which 
was not like that of any other writer !" " The very 
thing," said the author, " which, if it had not come 
naturally to me, I should have taken pains to pro- 
duce. The public are literally gasping for some- 
thing new, and for excitement. Besides, style is 
to matter, only what the frame is to the picture, or 
the contents of a box to the wood-work." The 
publisher admitted this : still, it was not the " taste 
of the day — it ought to be re- written." " It is not 
the defunct taste of the day," represented the 
author ; " and that what you advocate U defunct, 
is manifest by the present indifference of the public 
to works of a similar description, compared with 
their extraordinary request a few years since. It is 
novelty that is wanted, and craved for at all times— 
now especially — yet all novelties, no matter by what 
merit supported, have been refused at first by every 
purveyor to the public. It is prudence to act 
according to a set rule ; it is a point of wisdom to 
know when to make a judgmatic exception." The 



m 

publisher admitted all this, and a great deal more. 
The author challenged him to name a " stock-book" 
of importance, which, as a first work, had not been 
rejected by all the publishers ? " He did not know 
that he could : — but the subject in question was 
only a manuscript ! v 

The above individual, having formed himself in 
solitude upon his own models and reflections, with- 
out any mechanical imitation of others, or identi- 
fying himself with any particular ' school ; ' and 
having been a steady and searching self-examiner 
for years, thought he might venture to send his 
work to a second publisher. 

He did so, with the same pecuniary offer. The 
money was declined before the MS, was seen ; 
" the publisher not requiring anything of the kind, 
if he liked the work," {verhatim) and the latter 
was returned very soon after, the objection being 
doubtless of the same kind as before. It ought, 
not to be omitted, that the first publisher to whom 
he made the offer, declined the money also, before 
the MS. was sent, and in nearly the same words. 

The gentleman stared a little; and if he was 



32 

surprised at the second rejection of his work, he 
was no less so, at the unhesitating generosity with 
which his pecuniary offer was politely waved in both 
instances. Thinking it however, a somewhat hard 
case that his manuscript, possessing, as he believed, 
some merit and originality, should be " shelfed " 
without a hearing, chiefly on account of its style 
(which, upon a fresh examination and- comparison 
with that of others, he really could not find to be 
so uncouth and outre, as the antipathy manifested 
against it had almost led him to fear) he deter- 
mined to supersede the difficulty without further 
delay, by making the sum adequate to the whole 
expense of print and paper. He accordingly 

offered the work to Mr. M together with two 

hundred guineas, in a most unqualified manner ; to 
be given on the instant, and without any after- 
consideration whatever. 

The offer was politely declined, the work never 
having been seen. It only remains to add, that 
there was no personal prejudice on the part of any 
of these gentlemen, against the writer : on the 
contrary perhaps. 



33 

The above story is one of those which ought to 
end in some good joke. This is not impossible ; 
but at present the only joke to be made of it, is 
that of the MS. which the author— simple man — 
had fancied rather a lofty affair, being laid at full 
length among the cobwebs. The sum offered with 
it, would have met all the most important expenses; 
there was no essential objection to the work, as 
disagreeably involving author, publisher, and 
public ; and the connection alone of all these pub- 
lishers, especially the last, would have ensured 
their gain, probably to the same extent as the 
author had secured them against loss. The 
anecdote is merely given as a curiosity in the 
annals of the publishing business. 

" Aye," quoth some persevering man of "letters," 

bearing a singular resemblance to Mr. *s 

Delphic oracle ; " but ought we not to have some 
authority for such a story ? " 

"It can be given beyond doubt." 

" Then, we shrewdly suspect who the person 
alluded to, must be." 

"We plead guilty." 

"Well, sir; and where is the proof of your 
c3 



34 

work being worth publishing, either as regards 
publisher, or public ; the respective interests of 
whom, are not necessarily identified. It is a 
pleasant jest to hear you assume that the merit 
and originality of your book, should supersede the 
palpable objection of its non-conformity with the 
express style adopted at the present moment in 
modern literature." 

" We apologise for being alive." 

" This is mere talk: the chances are, at the very 
least, ten to one, sir, that your work was some trash 
that would only injure a publisher's reputation." 

" True ; they have suffered." 

ft That it was some book of vague, vamped-up 
theories, as dull as fustian and the total absence of 
all genuine novelty could make it.'" 

ft Mr — — said its novelty was its only sin." 

" Ah, a polite excuse, with no more meaning 
than > Farewell — God bless you/ The taste of 
the day, sir, is an imperative requisition, even if 
your production really contained anything to 
entitle it to notice ; but I can see no reason at 
present, why I should not think you a fool." 

" Granted." 



35 



IV. 

Disappointed Authors. — All Authors are 
disappointed, more or less, and where there happens 
to be an " extraordinary" exception, it looks like a 
mistake ! — every body speaks of it with astonish- 
ment, as though they wondered what the world 
could have been about ? What ! shall a man of 
genius " steal a march" upon us— and live? 

Disraeli, in his Calamities of Authors, after 
giving a painful account of the difficulties and 
mortifications of the philosopher Hume, thus con- 
tinues. 

" It was after preparing a second edition of 
Virgil, that the great Dryden, who had lived, and 
was to die in harness, found himself still obliged to 
seek his daily bread. Scarcely relieved from one 
heavy task, he w 7 as compelled to hasten to another ; 
and his efforts were now stimulated by a domestic 
feeling ; the expected return of his son in ill- 
health from Rome. In a letter to his bookseller he 



pathetically writes, ' if it please God that I must die 
of over-study, I cannot spend my life better than 
in preserving his.' He was at this time on the 
verge of bis seventieth year*." 

The same author informs us, that the celebratec 
works of Prideaux, &c. were a long time before the} 
could find publishers, "and much longer before they 
found readers. It is said that Sir Walter Raleigh 
burnt the second volume of his History, from the 
ill success the first had met with." — Farneworthfs 
elaborate translation, with notes and dissertations, 
of Machiavel's works, was hawked about the town — 
" After other laborious works of this kind, he left 
his family in distressed circumstances. Observe, 
this excellent book now bears a -high price." A 
similar fate attended the authors of the Biographia 
Britannica -f-. 
.. . 1 

* Miseries of Successful Authors, 

f " I shall just mention here, that we have had many 
highly valuable works suspended for their want of public 
patronage, to the utter disappointment, and sometimes" (com- 
monly, except they were independent of the world) cc the ruin 
of their authors ; such as Oldys's ' British Librarian/ Mor- 



37 

How many authors besides, Swift, Collins, Cow- 
ley, &c. have gone melancholy or raging mad, 
from the incessant action and re-action of hope, 
mortification, and penury, over-exciting that pecu- 
liar nervous system which so fatally appertains to 
intellectual men. How innumerable a mass might 
exclaim with Cowley, " This I do affirm, that from 
all which I have written, I never received the least 
benefit, or the least advantage ! " 

To what a long, melancholy list of justly admired 
writers, like Mr, Banim, will the words of the poet 
apply. 

The laurels he had won, were withering fast ; 
Lean Want pluck'd at them— and abortive hopes. 
Shaped into more than human misery, 
The circle sentinelTd where'er he moved* I" 

Nor is this all ; for where the sympathy of the 



gan's ' Phoenix Britannicus/ Br. Berkenhout's ' Biographia 
Literaria/ Professor Martyn's and Dr. Lettice's ' Antiquities 
of Herculaneum :' all these are first volumes, there are no 
seconds ! They are now rare, curious and high priced ! " 

* From a poem entitled Albert, or the Fatalist ; evidently 
by a young author, though we know not who he is. It is 
full of fine passages, and fell " still born" from the press. 



m 

public is denied to any author, of whatever merit, 
and his writings are attacked and calumniated, that 
denial extends also to any defence he may make. 

When a writer has laboured, perhaps for years, 
to obtain a given success and station with the 
public, whereby he might gain a moderate compe- 
tence, or livelihood — hard-earned in any case — and 
finds all his productions, either treated with neglect, 
or denied to possess any merit by other authors, 
critics, or men in place ; if he sends forth a * retort ' 
upon those by whom he is ' written down ? or coun- 
teracted, it is quite common for uninterested per- 
sons to turn aside the force of his reply, and evade 
the sally from his besieged hope, with easy levity, 
and the acutely trite observation, " Aye, aye, we 
see — a Disappointed Author ! " Now, without 
entering into the question, of whether a disap- 
pointed author can, by possibility, or cannot, 
possess any sterling capability, which the public 
and other censors have denied, or overlooked (as 
the above way of treating the matter is quite apart 
from the troublesome consideration) we would 
merely hint, that truth is by no means incom- 



39 

patible with personal experience; and where suf- 
fering does not drive the mind into egotism and 
extravagance, it is very likely to make a man 
master of his subject. Disappointment is expe- 
rience ; and to those who possess fortitude, it adds 
practical power, which is the right application of 
experience. 

Disappointment is the step-mother and provoca- 
tive of true power, as deep suffering is its nurse 
and increase. Any author of modern times, pos- 
sessing one atom of real genius, whom incessant 
disappointment cannot kill or disable, is sure 
eventually to succeed, if he pledges to himself his 
human will. But if he has a wife and family, the 
world may have ' the laugh ' against him as long 
as he lives* ! 

Yet we ought to explain, that by the term ' suc- 

* " If the letters of the widows and children of many 
of our eminent authors were collected, they would demon- 
strate the great fact, that the man who is a husband and a 
father ought not to he an author. They might weary with a 
monotonous cry, and usually would be dated from the gaol 
or the garret/' — D'Israeli. 



40 

cess,' we mean the admission of his merit by the 
world ; not that this by any means necessarily 
includes competency. For a certain period after 
his coming into notice, an author may gain a suffi- 
ciency for his comfort ; but it is scarcely ever 
permanent, and be the eclat with which he first 
appears, what it may, he generally dies in the same 
distress as if he had never been known. With the 
exception of not more than half a dozen indivi- 
duals (and those of present times would make but 
a small addition if included, though they cannot be 
adduced as proofs without the fiat of the future # ) 
we are persuaded that no author, out of the thousands 
and tens of thousands who have lived in England, 
ever gained a respectable permanent maintenance 
exclusively by his writings — unless those writings 
were such as posterity dismisses to oblivion ! The 

* The literature of Germany, rich as it is, is also of too 
modern a date to be included. It only commenced with 
Klopstock, about eighty years since. A. (x. De Schlegel, 
Characteristik der Deutschen Literatur. 

Perhaps this note was not very necessary after Weisser's 
epigram. 



41 

greatest abstract merit finds scarcely any reward: 
and of all the authors who have ever lived in the 
world (omitting France) we defy anybody to adduce 
twenty good instances to the contrary ! 

After all that has been previously advanced how- 
ever, we have now to deprecate a too hasty accusa- 
tion of eccentricity, when we affirm that the neglect, 
disappointment, and sufferings of authors, and men 
of genius in general, are not half so much to be 
attributed to the publishers or other purveyors — to 
their own erratic conduct — nor even, in a direct 
sense, to the public — as we have been hitherto led 
to believe. This will be made manifest when we 
come to analyze the cause. 



V. 

Of Dramatic Authors. — It is either an igno- 
rant or a cruel falsehood, to assert that dramatic 
genius is extinct in, England. It is equally an 
unjust and stupid reproach, to say that the public 



42 

give it no encouragement. The public have not the 
opportunity. It is the medium, that is false and 
unfavourable; and without a proper atmosphere, 
how should we receive heat or light from the sun ? 
It is not a dramatic age, we grant; but upon the 
same principle, we might argue inversely, that it 
was not an age of famine among the working 
classes, because there was an abundance of agricul- 
turists and manufacturers ready to produce to any 
extent. The dramatic power exists, though the 
efforts are not advantageously manifested. We see 
the spirit without the form, in many works. Who 
will undertake to deny that the author of " Joseph 
and his Brethren," (Whittaker, 1824) and " Stories 
after Nature," (Allman, 1822) could write a ge- 
nuine fine tragedy ? or to prove that the author of 
Hecatompylos (Athenaeum, Vol. i. No. 28.) has no 
dramatic power ? or, if we mention a writer of high 
and admitted reputation, that the author of Paul 
Clifford could not produce a sterling comedy, in 
which the philosophy, wit, and humour, could only 
be surpassed by its sound and beneficial moral ten- 
dency ? There are many individuals, whose names 



43 

are quite unknown to the public, in whom the true 
dramatic power, though dormant, is very far from 
" extinct ;" yet who will believe it without the 
entire proof? The world is only credulous where 
calumny is concerned : of all wit, wisdom, virtue, 
genius, a severe ordeal is exacted ; and well for the 
unfortunate possessor, if he can then surmount the 
cautious, evil-eyed, mechanical scrutiny. 

It is not generally understood that the intellec- 
tual passion which stimulates, and can alone pro- 
duce a fine tragedy — perfect in the elements upon 
which it is founded ; in the torrent-like momentum 
of its action ; and in its uncompromised results — 
must naturally in almost all cases, be attended with 
a commensurate pride in the possession and indepen- 
dent exercise of its power. Perhaps it is only 
understood by the few who possess, or who appre- 
ciate the value of real pride. Such men may write 
an occasional tragedy for their own satisfaction, or 
that of a friend, but they do not deign to offer them 
to the be-devilled bear-garden of the royal patent 
theatres ! They prefer retiring into the wilds of 
Yorkshire, Cumberland, or North Wales; and 



not unfrequently seek a precarious existence in 
voluntary exile to some far distant country. It is 
not improbable however, that amidst the five or six 
hundred pieces annually offered to the theatres, 
there may be one or two instances of a fine tragedy 
sent by some unknown author, impelled by stress 
of circumstances, and at the same time not being 
sufficiently aware of the futility. Of course it 
never appears. 

The extraordinary measures and practices of the 
managerial purveyors of both the large houses, have 
been such as to ruin themselves, and — which is far 
more important — the stage. Their blindness and 
obstinate folly, are truly wonderful ; and notwith- 
standing the public mind has long been opening 
to a conviction of their erroneous proceedings, to 
iudge only by its effects ; the mischievous system is 
to a much greater extent than generally imagined, 
as the writer of the present Exposition has had many 
opportunities of knowing, although he has never 
offered any piece to any theatre. In order to pre- 
vent mistaken impressions in the perusal of the 
ensuing pages, he would merely state, that his few 



45 

accidental trifles which others have thought worth 
publishing, have always been favourably received, 
and he begs leave to inform those connected with 
the managers, publishers &c. (with a bow !) that he 
is not a Disappointed Author. 

Since the age of Elizabeth we have only had 
three or four reading tragedies; and all these 
within little more than the last hundred years. 
Cato; which wants passion, and is very heavy in 
progression (it died with John Kemble) ; and the 
Cenci ; which is too powerful and true a picture of 
the unnatural. The third and fourth are left to 
the Reader. Byron's dramas are full of fine passages, 
but are quite undramatic as wholes. Of acting trage- 
dies — and action is essential to real tragedy, since the 
above distant period scarcely any worth the name 
have come to light ; though it is not impossible but 
some may have been i( shelfed " or destroyed by 
the theatrical readers, from whom, till within these 
last few years, a rejected or neglected play could 
scarcely ever be obtained by its author. Of 
" Douglas " we would wish to speak well (not- 
withstanding its want of force and grandeur, both 
in thought and style; the latter being poor as a 



46 

prize poem) because Home was persecuted by the 
Scotch clergy for writing "a stage-play." The 
author of Runnimede was stigmatised in a similar 
manner. It appears however, that we have had 
but one fine specimen since the time of Elizabeth : 
Otway^s " Venice Preserved. " The rest are made 
by the actor. Brutus, Bertram, Sir Edward Mor- 
timer (the Falkland of Godwin) and the tragi- 
comedy of Sir Giles Overreach, will probably all 
die with Kean. The secret of their success with 
him ; for no one else wisely attempts them ; is be- 
cause, however deficient in strength and elevation of 
language and in general execution, they contain 
some of the elementary principles of tragedy, which 
he only can feel and pourtray*. It is the same with 
Pasta, when she fills up with substantial life and 
passion the unformed operatic phantoms of Medea, 
Semiramide, Anna Boleyn, &c. She is an inexpres- 

* Since writing the above, the great tragedian is no more : 
but he can never be dead, so long as those live who have once 
awoke from ordinary existence to appreciate him. A deep, 
continuous feeling, is worth all your tombs ; for no capricious 
moral multitude, can destroy, or even disturb, its sacred 
isolation. We sincerely hope he will never be laid in 
Westminster Abbey. 



47 

sible loss to the British drama. To have written a 
tragedy for such a spirit, would be sufficient reward 
to any author; because the saturating impression 
would lift him through life with full sense of dignity, 
and the consummation of intellectual passion, and 
crown his death-bed with immortal memories ! 

The public have been so long without any fresh 
effort of dramatic genius, that they do not seem to 
know wherein its essence consists— and the critics do 
not tell them. They quietly tolerate the audacious 
and ignorant stage-mutilation of Shakspeare's great- 
est tragedy; and with equivocal indifference, see 
King Lear end, after all, in a respectable old gen- 
tleman, who retires into the country, " and in 

meditation — &c." A tragedy — and that one, Shaks- 

* 

peare^s — ending in meditation ! Yet the quickness 
with which the public take up any thing that is put 
forth, especially if " crammed down," with a high- 
flown ostentatious show of tragedy, proves at all 
events, their wish to encourage, and contradicts the 
false assertions of the managers. "Werner" has a 
host of admirers. It is a bad tragedy, because it 
has nothing lofty in good or evil, in its foundation. 
A disinherited nobleman steals some money — and 



48 

his applauded son, is discovered to be an anoma- 
lous cut-throat ! The play ends in a general evasion 
of result. As to style, it is not poor or negative, 
like the generality of these modern mistakes ; but 
inexcusably bad throughout. " Francis the First " 
is an abortive attempt, because its chief character 
commences with the greatest pretensions of inherent 
power, and ends with the weakest compromise — and 
at the fourth act ! Surely so stupendous a person- 
age as the Queen Mother, might have " held out " 
were it only for the sake of appearances ', till the end 
of her child's play, before she suffered the boy to 
send her into a nunnery? It was a weak subject, 
weakly treated, and passed through fourteen editions 
in a short time. 



VI. 

Of Composers, and Instrumental Perfor- 
mers. — It is no particular compliment to genius, 
to assert that England contains many Composers, 
whose names are at present little known, who are 



49 

very superior to those who have been for a long 
period most influential in our feudal patent theatres. 

" Sir Knight, thy glory clarioneth the heavens." 
And, at the other house, there was no great effort, 
either of genius or honour, in the Director adapting 
foreign compositions, with shameful liberties and 
interpolations, and putting them forth with the 
flourish of his own patronising name. It is too like 
an ecclesiastic robbing the sanctuary of faith and 
hope, and calling the deed ' charity ! ' 

Let an Opera possess the highest genius and 
science — it will either be refused, delayed, or 
mutilated beyond bearing; and if it appear — 
whether thus capriciously deprived of its merit 
and best chances, or not — there is little likelihood 
of its success. The justly celebrated, and high- 
wrought Overture to Der Freyschutz, was per- 
formed at an Oratorio before it became known to 
the public, and was received with such negative 
indifference that the forth-coming Opera itself was 
withdrawn, and did not appear at the theatres till 
about three years afterwards. This was not the 
fault of the Public ; they are only learners. It was 



50 

eventually brought out at the English Opera, 
through Mr. BrahamY resolute influence (not the 
desire of the Manager) after having been refused 
by the large theatres — the Managers liking the plot, 
but the Directors disliking the music, and insisting 
that it would not succeed. Mr. Bishop modestly 
offered to put music of his own instead I Admitting 
that the ears of these worthies could not appreciate 
the original melodies, where was their science that 
did not "perceive the original harmonies? The 
emoluments were subsequently so enormous, though 
the Composer reaped scarcely any benefit, that Weber, 
on first hearing the estimate, forgetting his fame 
(and probably thinking of his family # ) exclaimed, 
" Would I had been a music-seller ! " The recep- 
tion of that beautiful and equally original pro- 
duction, " Oberon," at which he presided himself, 
was such as to give a final blow to his weak 
frame, and already over-excited sensibilities — not 
being aware of the chief cause, which might, or 
ought to have made, all the difference in the effect 
upon him. He died a few days after; and the 

* They are living at present, and in distressed circumstances, 



51 

Public were especially informed that the climate 
killed him ! No sooner however is he dead, than 
the most imbecile quack that was ever at the top of 
his profession — a Director who never had a firm 
opinion of his own — gets the portrait of Weber 
painted, with the exact fallen expression, and 
cadaverous complexion, to which the then great 
man was reduced by sad mortality's last debt — even 
to the very look of the glazed eye, by express 
order; and hanging it up in his private room of 
office, called upon every fresh comer-in, to sympa- 
thise with him in admiration of Weber's genius, &c. 
But mark the unconscious movements of innate 
weakness : he could not face his living look, even 
in a picture ! 

Weber's contemporary, Beethoven, whose high 
fame was universally established, was compelled 
in his latter years, when infirm and deaf, to write 
pieces for his maintenance. The Philharmonic 
Society generously sent over to the most scientific 
of countries, one hundred pounds for his relief; 
under the impression that he was starving — which 
however, his industry had superseded. He was 

d2 



52 

dead when the money arrived there. Instead of 
the amount being gratefully returned, it was seized 
upon by some graceless heir at law, and the 
Society have been ridiculed as fools, by those 
sort of gentry who would starve a man of genius 
a second time, if they had the chance. 

We omit the names of a great many other Com- 
posers who have lived and died in poverty. After 
mentioning the treatment of Gay and.Carey, we will 
confine ourselves to present times. 

Perhaps no piece was ever offered to a theatr 
which was so immediately and permanently success- 
ful as the " Beggar's Opera ; " but it was rejected 
according to custom, by the goose " in place," and 
only brought out in consequence of the determined 
resistance of its author to the ignorant or selfish 
impertinence of his opponents. How many other 
pieces, which would have proved admirable addi- 
tions to our miserable stock of English Operas, 
have been treated in a similar way, and then 
consigned to oblivion, by the shameless stupidity, 
self-interest, or idle prejudices of those who stand as 
Barriers between men of ability and the public. 



53 

At the very time that Carey; Author of the words 
and music of " God Save the King," &c. &c., to 
whose memory no one has done justice but Mr. 
D'Israeii; " could neither walk the streets, nor be 
seated at the convivial board, without listening to 
his own songs, and his own music — for in truth the 
whole nation was echoing his verse, and crowded 
theatres were clapping to his wit and humour — while 
this very man himself, urged by his strong huma- 
nity, had founded a " Fund for decayed musicians" — 
at this v^ry moment was poor Carey himself so 
broken-hearted, and his own common comforts so 
utterly neglected, that in despair, not waiting for 
Nature to relieve him from the burthen of existence, 
he laid violent hands on himself; and when found 
dead, had only a halfpenny in his pocket ! " 

We have those among us, little known to the 
public, who can compose songs and instrumental 
pieces of the highest order. If the deep and pathetic 
Ballad, entitled " A Last Remembrance," and the 
beautiful song of " Our own Fire-side," had been the 
production of one of the "craft " it would have had 
as great a success as many we could mention ; and 
far better deserved : neither are the sweet and ori- 



54 

ginal melodies of Linley sufficiently appreciated; and 
how much less so, the pathos of sentiment, and fine 
combination of sensibility and science, in those of 
Roberts. His " Maid of Athens " will live as long 
as Byron's poetry. While the legerdemain of 
Henri Herz and Moschelles is " executed V by half 
the town, how little is Dr. Crotch valued beyond the 
audience of the " few." But admitting that a highly 
gifted composer of songs or instrumental pieces, 
whom we will suppose quite unknown — a thing 
possible — can get fairly before the public ; which is 
exceedingly difficult from various causes ; how 
meagre is his doubtful emolument; or if moderately 
satisfactory, there must be a circumscription of the 
number of his productions, or a surfeit is the 
consequence. Such an individual cannot by the 
exercise of his best abilities, maintain himself and 
family with respectability, or perhaps procure the 
necessaries of life, during any length of time. He 
is therefore compelled to seek the precarious 
drudgery of giving lessons in music. Who does 
not commiserate (to what end ?) the melancholy 
death of the author of the Witches'* Glee ? 

Of instrumental performers, we have some of the 



55 

first in the world. The emolument they derive 
from the exercise of that talent which has cost them 
a life of labour, and perhaps the destruction of 
their constitution, is trivial compared with that 
of the most wretched tenor singer on the stage — 
though the superlative may be difficult to name. 
To speak generally, the solo performers are of the 
highest talent; the male singers, of the meanest. 
The instrumentalists are wondrously " applauded " 
whenever they perform ; but their maintenance is 
entirely by teaching; and this is found so very 
inadequate, that nearly all of them are compelled 
to give instructions in other instruments besides, or 
in preference to those upon which they are pre- 
eminent in excellence. How few, except those con- 
nected with the profession, ever learn the trumpet, 
clarionet, or violoncello? — yet Harper, Willman, 
and Lindley surpass every one else, of whatever 
country. Puzzi performs wonders on the French 
horn, and is obliged to teach the piano. The harp; 
to meet the question on the contrary ; is very 
much in request ; yet Chatterton, Sen., who has as 
much execution as Bochsa in his best days, and as 



56 

all those who have ever heard him at private par- 
ties — the best test of any performer — are of opinion, 
is unequalled in taste and beauty of expression, 
found it requisite, till very lately, to teach the 
piano also. Huerta, whose instrument, heard in a 
private room, realises all our poetical ideas of the 
lute, and far surpasses anticipation in the force and 
variety of his effects, found it impossible to earn a 
maintenance here. He went over to France, and a 
pension was given him almost immediately. 

The mechanical and the subservient; the false 
in taste, and the futile in result, are the only things 
that pay ! 



VII. 

Of Actors and Singers. — Mrs. Siddons on 
obtaining her first engagement at Drury Lane, was 
kept almost entirely to the second-rate parts ; and 
at the end of the season, was politely informed that 
her services would not again be needed. She was 



57 

obliged to return into the country where she re- 
mained seven years before she again ventured to 
offer her services to the ignorant Thebans. This 
is the one isolated great exception to the ordinary 
influence of managerial ignorance, Mrs. Siddons 
having been shelfed in consequence of the alarmed 
jealousy of Garrick. He ought to have had a 
deep sympathy with her situation ; especially as he 
had been rejected himself. The supercilious and 
tasteful Mr. Rich, (who, as Gait informs us, kept 
about a dozen pet cats!) then manager of one of the 
great theatres, treated him as a mere stroller from 
the country ; and Mr. Fleetwood, the other block- 
head, being no doubt of a very similar opinion, 
Garrick was eventually obliged to make his 
" debut" at a minor theatre in Goodman's Fields ! 
Before John Kemble could obtain a Metropolitan 
engagement at one of the great theatres, he was 
obliged, during nearly ten years, to work his 
painful way through almost all the provincials. 
While in Dublin, after six or seven years' strollino- 
had procured him considerable fame, the proprie- 
tors of Covent Garden having heard that there 
d 3 



58 

was a brother of Mrs. Siddons who was " very 
great," engaged his fat brother Stephen by mis- 
take* ! We may take this as a fair general criterion 
of the palpable grossness of a Manager's judgment. 
It was probably owing to this ludicrously ignorant 
blunder, that John Kemble did not get an engage- 
ment in London till three years afterwards. While 
acting in Liverpool, he and Mrs. Siddons were 
both hooted from the stage, and the walls of the 
city covered with doggrels expressive of contempt 
and derision f . 

When Mrs. Jordan first appeared at Drury 
Lane, with the paltry salary of four pounds per 
week (which was raised to thirty, directly she 
applied to Sheridan, who was the subsequent 
manager) she was expressly engaged to play 
tragedy , the seconds to Mrs. Siddons; the mana- 
gers not having the least idea that her talent lay 
in the very opposite line — till she had succeeded to 
a surprising degree ! 

* Oxberry's Dramatic Biography, 
f Kembles Letter to Mrs. Inchbald. 



59 

The thorough purblindness of the Operatic au- 
thorities to the inherent capabilities of Madame 
Pasta, which ought to have been evident to them 
in every trifling part she was permitted to perform, 
is one of the most characteristic enormities. The 
neglect was carried, as usual, through the whole 
of the "corps Operatique," and manifested by every 
worm in office. Even the wardrobe- women used to 
send her the refuse dresses, saying with ' noncha- 
lance,' that " anything would do for Pasta !" It 
is more generally known (though the public have 
not yet troubled themselves to draw any inference 
from these gigantic instances) that Kean was only 
brought out at Drury Lane by way of an experi- 
ment to fill the house for one night at least, as the 
theatre was close upon its downfall ; and if possi- 
ble to create some " disturbance " about him for a 
short time ! It was considered by those in the 
secret, as a feasible hoax ; and that such was their 
opinion, is well known to most of the individuals 
who were present at his rehearsal, or who are 
acquainted w T ith the memorable circumstances of 
that rehearsal, and the previous sufferances of the 



60 

" debutant*." The greatest tragedian that ever 
ascended the dramatic throne, was made the finger- 
mark and low jest of the principals in every "line 
of business" — and thence downwards to the scene- 
shifters and door-keepers ; as will be particularly 
remembered by Messrs. Rae, Wrench, and that 

prince of perverse Loggerheads, Mr. . If any 

one of the establishment appreciated him, it was 
Mr. Arnold — who was reprimanded for it by the 
Committee. Kean rose speedily to the pinnacle of 
success ; and although he met with considerable 
opposition, especially from the press, it only served 
to make him further noised abroad. He, whose 
provincial pantomime had commonly been preferred 
to his tragedy, saved the Patent Theatre from utter 

* We are not singular in the above statement. A writer 
after telling us that Mr. Grenfell saw that Drury Lane would 
be beaten out of the field by the other house " if chance did 
not work a very material change &c." gives us some of the 
expressions of the Committee uttered to Kean*s face; as 
" God bless me ! what a poor looking thing P — "He'll destroy 
the concern P said another.— Morning Chronicle, May 16th. 

See also his shameful treatment by the Treasury, and his 
waiting an hour upon the landing-place, for the explanation 
which was refused. How would the feelings of such a man 
fill up an hour under such circumstances! What could re- 
pay it ? 



61 

ruin the moment he first appeared upon the stage ; 
and the giants of " heavy tragedy," according to 
their own apt technicality, like cowering tyrants, 
turned and fled, 

"When insupportably his foot advanc'd!" 

The managers looked wise at one another ! Had 
the hoax succeeded dangerously well ?— or was it a 
real " hit," by accident ? — or how ? 

In like manner, Miss CTNeill was brought out 
at Covent Garden, as a mere experiment to find 
some novelty that would enable them to stand 
against the extraordinary effect produced by Kean 
at the other house. They first made overtures to a 
Mrs. Pitt, who however declined to take the first 
tragic parts. They next thought of a Miss Wal- 
stein, who was then acting with much repute in 
Dublin ; but her terms were too high, especially as 
she was sure not to quit a good engagement without 
the offer of a permanent one in London, which did 
not fall in with their " experiment." Miss O'Neill 
was therefore brought out at a low salary; the 
managers knowing nothing of the extent of her 
ability, and being, as usual, in owlish doubt even 
as to her success. 



62 

Before Braham was permitted to rise, he met 
with much discouragement, and it was insisted by 
most professionals of the day, that his voice was 
quite artificial, and his singing " all a trick." It 
was so incessantly repeated, that he has confessed 
he at last began to believe it himself. If any one 
now (after upwards of forty years' "wear and tear,") 
was to intimate such a thing ; i. e., that his voice 
was literally reduced to not more than three fine 
notes, and that his singing was entirely an old 
stager's art in introducing and sustaining them, it 
would be considered little short of profanity. To 
speak the truth at first, is always to stand alone 
amidst a host ; and in questions including the decay 
of human faculties, to speak it at last, is exactly 
the same. Mr. Kean's acting was an exception to 
this. Although, from his loss of bodily strength, he 
was fast upon the wane with the vulgar, to whom 
gross external power is indispensable, his acting had 
the same soul of passion to the last, and perhaps 
was still finer wrought in the subtler manifestations 
of inward workings, from being compelled to de- 
pend so much more upon " the spirit" than " the 
letter." But to return to Mr. Braham: if he 



62 

possessed less compass ; not to mention style, and 
method of execution; than Donzelli, who is con- 
sidered, in the profession, to have the finest voice 
ever known, that of Braham was originally the 
richest-toned tenor that can be imagined ; and in 
Sacred Music, he never was, and perhaps never 
will be, equalled. He is now a wonderful old man, 
and the public cannot be too grateful for his long 
services, however they may be disinclined to see 
him enact six different characters in one piece ! 

Mrs. Wood, then Miss Paton, after a long and 
expensive course of musical education, superadded 
to her natural vocal capabilities, was obliged to 
come out at a minor theatre, and for a " benefit." 
We could add a crowd of similar instances ; in 
fact, the possession of pre-eminent superiority 
always ensures the same fate before the first step 
can be made, unless the individual has some 
" means of overcoming the conflicting private 
interests, or the dull perception of avaricious stu- 
pidity. The last of the manifold tale of bitter 
aggravation, that has come under our knowledge, 
is the treatment of Mr. Lenox, who after long and 
arduous study, was endeavouring during the last 



64 

four years, to make his appearance at one of the 
large houses, for which the extraordinary volume 
of his voice and the energy of his acting, were more 
especially calculated— and in vain. He gave several 
stage proofs at rehearsals in both houses during the 
interval, but the knight and the bishop could not 
see, or else would not act, without the medium of a 
pawn. He came out some months since, as Arta- 
banes, and although he gave a greater effect than 
any one else, to the ungainly part — not to place 
him iu unfair competition with a reputation of 
forty or fifty years'' standing — which was also 
immediately recognised by almost every news- 
paper; from some Unaccountable cause he has 
never again appeared. We shall u account" for 
it very easily, however, by the old system. It 
was fully anticipated throughout the whole corps 
dramatique, except Laporte, that he would fail 
as utterly as H. Phillips did in the same part, 
though he is the best singer on our stage — and 
they were all bitterly disappointed. 

Mr. Sapio was a gentleman who possessed a fine 
voice, a pleasing style, and correct method. He was 
highly accomplished in his profession, being able to 



65 

sustain parts in English, French, and Italian, with 
equal facility. What has become of Mr. Sapio? 
He was a favourite with the Public, and a deserving 
one, but nobody ever inquires after him, or seems 
to care whether he be alive or dead. Was it that 
Mr. Sapio behaved like a man of spirit who resists 
the querulous overbearing impertinence of a quack 
knight who happens to be placed above him ; or by 
what other injustice, or cabal, has he been thrown 
out of all engagement in London for so long a 
period ? 



VIII. 

Of Novelists, and how to write a Suc- 
cessful Novel. — It has been publicly asserted 
from several quarters, that the novel of Waverley 
was refused at first by all the publishers. This is 
not true. We have previously stated that Consta- 
ble was an exception to the fraternity, being a man 
of spirit and discrimination ; hence his introduction 
of a series of works that have produced a more 



66 

extensive fame and a larger fortune than were ever 
acquired before by any living author, or ever will 
be again. Yet there is rational philosophy in the 
above statement, though, as a matter of fact, it is 
quite incorrect. The principle is but too well 
founded upon experience. Would any other pub- 
lisher in Scotland, or in London, have ventured 
into such a ' speculation ' as they call it ? The 
impression of Scott himself must have been similar 
to ours, or what could have occasioned his keeping 
the MS. many years in his desk without offering 
it* ? Obtuseness or obliquity of judgment in pub- 
lishers, is a fact of old date. The admirable novel 
of Tom Jones (among others too numerous even 
to mention) was refused by every publisher, al- 
though the distressed author offered the copyright 
for twenty, or five and twenty pounds ! Swift, 
Sterne, Goldsmith, Maturin, &c. were treated no 
better : let us also call to mind the extreme distress 
and wretchedness of Smollett, (while " booksellers 
were receiving incomes from his works ! ") and the 
persecution, ruin and long imprisonment of De Foe. 

* Quaere: might not this have induced the title? 



67 

The poverty of the amiable and magnanimous 
Mrs. Inchbald, is rendered doubly pathetic by the 
sweetness of her resignation to the harsh and heavy 
contingencies of an intellectual life. She appears to 
have gained very little by her writings. Brockden 
Brown was also an original genius, and we need 
say no more. The sapient publishers, however, 
have not yet found out that Nature and Art, and 
the novel of Wieland, are far superior to the 
Simple Story, and Edgar Huntley, by the same 
authors. 

It may be imagined that in giving a recipe for 
the construction of a Successful Novel for the present 
" taste of the day," we intend merely a burlesque, or a 
satirical caricature. Such is not our purpose ; indeed 
it would be a very difficult task, as the goodness of 
a caricature depends upon the original subject pos- 
sessing some inherent great qualities, or a high con- 
ventional importance, so that it may be effective by 
force of contrast. This, however, the minor thea- 
tres have produced (intending to be serious) in 
adapting certain novels and tales, which are great 
exceptions to the present style of what is called 
" works of fiction"— a designation originating in, 



/r 



68 

and unconsciously used to convey a sense of their 
being founded upon false instead of natural prin- 
ciples — a mere fiction ! But who ever called Ro- 
binson Crusoe, a work of "fiction," or Nature 
and Art ? We also draw a very determinate line 
between these exceptions, and such intellectual 
efforts as are not Novels, though compelled to 

i 

assume that form, to suit the perverted exclusive- 
ness of " the day." 

And first, for a Romantic novel — select from some 
sources little known, if you cannot invent, a story 
which possesses interest from its admitting of tole- 
rably striking situations to the external eye; and 
place the ^cene where you are well acquainted, by 
books or from actual observation, with the localities, 
which you will find an excellent neutral ground, 
whenever at fault. If you commit errors in all the 
passions you attempt to bring into play ; or work 
up nonentities to a high point, till at last they are 
obliged to confess themselves by ending in an eva- 
sion, or a mistake; it is of no consequence — pro- 
vided you make a picturesque opening, where the 
reader can stand, and cry out — "the scenery! — 
the scenery ! — and what romantic decorations ! " Fill 



* 



69 



up the plot with incidents made important by their 
mystery and minuteness of detail. As many crimes 
as may be thought effective, can be committed 
throughout; wasting no time about the mere 
subtleties of consistency, or in making invisible 
references to the secret workings of nature, and 
such unintelligible stuff (of which we are made) 
but carefully avoid all serious final results of 
passion. For example; if you have portrayed 
your hero as a powerful character, let him act up to 
it in progress as much as possible ; see, however, 
that he compromise it in the end, or else evade the 
final point and question altogether. This is neces- 
sary, or your novel will certainly find no y publisher. 
In short, let it be interesting in progress, highly 
finished in literary execution ; touching the finesse 
of present style; and without anything essentially 
tragic in its conclusion. If the writer be a man 
of genius, he can hardly bring himself to concede 
the last point : there is " for a' that/' one method, 
which, though attended with an awkward embargo, 
would perhaps obviate the necessity of marring an 
impassioned story with an impotent result. Let 



70 

him draw out a skeleton of the whole, with an 
abstract of the progressive contents of each chapter, 
and then give it to some friend or ally, of talent 
only, to fill up. Let the title (which all publishers 
of such works consider as half the battle) be roman- 
tically striking ; elucidating in laconics what young 
ladies from boarding schools feel on first seeing 
Wallack in the Brigand ; or any other stage hero 
who can play the head Turk in the afterpiece; 
such as, The Bandit's Home, or Won and Worn, 
&c. If it be not, however, a story of love entirely, 
and that much damage is done, and a number of 
lives lost about other matters, let something despe- 
rate and dreadful be expressed in the shape of a 
warning, or else followed by a weak, or a trite 
conventional moral. 

For a Fashionable novel, the title is by far the 
most important part of the business. This may 
appear rather like a sarcasm — but the fact may be 
depended upon. A concise epigram or antithesis 
upon some prevalent topic, which has just started 
as you have finished your last volume, is the best 
general rule ; and the insertion of a fresh scene or 



71 

two, and a few sentences here and there, will quite 
suffice to bear you out. A striking popular proverb 
or saying, is generally a " trump card " for a title 
in all cases ; whether for a modern novel, or a song. 
As to the novel itself, choose a series of amusing 
incidents, applicable to characters of the present 
day ; not omitting an occasional high sauce of 
scandal or flattery, and full of allusion to prevailing 
topics; the scene being laid in London, Paris, or 
some place in the country distinguished by the 
patronage of the " haut ton." Then, with a polished 
jaunty style, and as much brilliant water-colour 
piquancy, as you can give ; with a little occasional 
sentiment by way of back-ground ; amble gracefully 
through three volumes, and perorate {pirouette) 
with a winning au revoir to the Reader. 

But will this, it may be asked, be highly suc- 
cessful with the Public, and continue so ? Certainly 
not. It requires the master-spirit throughout, both in 
whole and in detail, to gain an extensive circulation, 
with a prolonged life; but works, or rather pas- 
times, written upon the principles we have laid 
down, will immediately find a publisher (as also 



72 

will a second, and third, in consequence) and be 
sufficiently well received by the public during the 
season; which is quite as much as the generality 
obtain. Such a thing as a second edition, is never 
contemplated, by the publisher, nor even perhaps 
by the author ; nay, the first is apt occasionally to 
" hang fire," where the article happens to be one 
of the worst specimens of the worst method of 
book-making, that the annals of our literature can 
produce. What is become of the immense cargo 
published by Messrs. Colburn and Bentley during 
the last few years ? The fate of some of them we 
know, and may guess that of the rest. At the 
dissolution of partnership, one bookseller, Mr. Tegg, 
bought from the dead stock of recent fashionable 
novels, about £3000 worth, at the rate of half-a- 
crown each set! — and Mr. C.,the veteran, at the 
present time is disposing of " the vast remainder," 
at the reasonable price of eightpence per vol. ; with 
the " proviso," that they are to be shipped off to 
foreign lands ! This seems like reversing the story 
of Scylla and Charybdis. Mr. Bentley has become 
his successor. 



73 



IX. 

Of Painters and Sculptors. — It is foreign 
to our present purpose to enter into any discussion 
of the comparative merits of ancient and modern 
Art*, Yet it must be acknowledged, however our 
national vanity may be provoked upon the occasion, 
that we are not a painting or sculpturing people. 
It is not our forte: it is not the genius of the age. 
Twenty years ago, how meagre was our appre- 
ciation of Music ! Bald and antiquated airs, like 
musty proverbs, were considered the height of 
perfection by those who passed for ' musical ; ' and 
even at the present time, how far are we behind 
our continental neighbours? There is no need 
that we should be vexed at this latter fact, espe- 
cially as the public taste is improving so fast ; but 

* The old masters, many of whom were men of inde- 
pendent property, were highly patronised by the church, 
from motives of religious zeal and self-interest, rather than 
comprehension or admiration. Yet Carravaggio died in a 
ditch; the great Salvator was banished, &c. Instances 
among the moderns are too numerous to enter upon. 

E 



74 

in Painting we are much less advanced ; our ideas 
want forming and directing ; and as to Sculpture, we, 
as a people, are only one remove from passive density. 
The next remove will be that of impertinence : after 
which, we may begin to understand a little. To the 
public, the Elgin marbles are a dead language. 
We have now possessed them some years ; but we 
have no intellectual or pleasurable acquaintance 
with them, whatever. It is all to come. On their 
first arrival, their merits were doubted and contested 
by some of our highest professors and popular 
critics in the fine arts, and they are now only 
appreciated by a very select few. There is no 
serious charge of stupidity connected with this; 
for they require the study of the most intellectual 
men, before their beauty and grandeur can become 
sufficiently apparent. But with the public, even 
the admiration afforded to the more effective and 
ostensible perfection of the Apollo, Venus, Laocoon, 
&c. is merely verbal, and because it would look 
unclassical not to praise them : there is no faith or 
feeling in the matter. The public mind must be 
educated to these things, and it cannot be done 



75 

hastily. The names of Raffaelle and Titian, are 
mentioned with respect and admiration by all people 
of education and taste, and our writers of critiques 
upon the fine arts, speak with vague applause of 
the expression of the one, and the colouring of the 
other; but it is very seldom that a writer, like 
Mr. Hazlitt, draws out for us and elucidates their 
definite force and object, their unostentatious points 
of beauty, and the depth of sentiment, intelligence, 
or passion, that constitutes the chief subject and 
highest aim of their principal works. It appears 
that such things are scarcely ever attempted by any 
of our modern painters ; yet one cannot help think- 
ing that some of the Royal Academicians (those 
who can afford it) ought to answer Lamb's essays 
" On the total absence of the quality of imagination 
in the works of modern artists V — not by verbal 
arguments, but by painting a picture in refutation ? 
The infinite labour of mechanical excellence ab- 
sorbs the generality of modern artists ; they see so 
much in the means, that they defeat, and at last 
lose sight of, the end. The ideal and impassioned 
seem to be extinct ; at all events, we find nothing 

e2 



76 

of the kind in the works of the all-admired Law- 
rence, and those of his school. To have reached 
a perfection in polite taste, in refined harmony of 
colouring, and elegance of style, was much to have 
accomplished ; had it not been the means of lead- 
ing the public mind away from all powerful com- 
position, till a degree of antipathy has resulted, 
which has rendered us too effeminate even to endure 
the sight. Perhaps the pictures of Northcote (not 
his latter ones) contain more genuine force of style, 
and intellectuality of purpose, than those of any 
of his contemporaries. His picture from the play 
of "Richard the Third, is very superior to the 
numerous lords and ladies " made the most of" by 
the late courtly President of the Royal Academy. 
Jackson's portrait of Flaxman, was also a very 
different thing; while the " Cain " by Noble, was 
of that kind of dangerous power, which to the 
admirers of our present delicate and evanescent 
style, must have been fearfully offensive. Other 
pictures have also been occasionally exhibited, which 
were not in the bad " taste of the day," the artists 
happening to be too much in advance of their 



77 

age, or period, and were consequently either unno- 
ticed, or mistaken for barbarity. Extremes meet, 
both in fact and fallacy. 

With respect to Sculpture, it is evidently con- 
fined at present, to the appreciation of " the 
few." Compare Lady Darner's fine bust of Nelson ; 
which has been the object of so much impertinent 
criticism ; with the numerous portraits bearing his 
name, that resemble a forlorn hair-dresser ! Has 
Baily's " Eve " been appreciated by dull John 
Bull ! — or his beautiful figure of " Sleep ? " — 
Oh professional critics ! We shall see whether 
Rossi's statue of the poet Thomson, in the pre- 
sent exhibition, will be understood; and what 
will be said of two or three other fine figures and 
designs. The intellectual classes of the fine arts, 
are most unprofitable professions, and the patron- 
age of Sculpture may be placed at zero, though we 
have several modern artists whose works are as 
worthy of praise for their merit as for their personal 
heroism in making designs that are generally 
neglected in proportion to such merit. The public 
liked Tarn CTShanter and Souter Johnny much 



78 

better. We have a free-stone exhibition of a 
more presumptive kind, now open in Bond-street. 
And is this misplaced patronage to be wondered at, 
when we find the public — critics and all — tolerate 
busts in wigs ! — and marble effigies of gentlemen 
dressed in fashionable coats, " cut to the quick," the 
collar, sharp-crossed lapelles, and style of which, 
are literally given in the stone, as though it were 
only meant to last a few months ! This is con- 
founding the high and ideal in sentiment and time, 
with the very tailoring of the practical hour. 
These busts, nevertheless, have a claim upon the 
acquaintance of Posterity ; for we have certainly 
derived much benefit from the permanent adoption 
of the excellent paving system of M c Adam, and 
through his medium a proper introduction may no 
doubt be effected. 

The higher walks of Painting and Sculpture are 
now so discouraged, that those who are capable 
of any efforts in the great style, will be wise not 
to waste their labour and their hopes, except they 
possess sufficient competence to save them from the 
distress and penury to which their genius will be 



79 

certain to reduce them. We have no great reason 
however, to accuse them of this want of reasonable 
conviction, as the recent Exhibitions at Somerset 
House are a sufficient testimony. They are little 
better than Exposures, and contemptible, (and in 
some cases contemptuous !). reflections of the public 
taste. All enthusiasm for fine historical subjects, is 
now merged in a bloated personal vanity ; rendered 
doubly ridiculous by the individuals being chiefly 
those who have done nothing in the world to qualify 
their impertinent supposition of its interest, and 
also that their " fac-similes " are destitute of all real 
beauty, energy, expression, or fine character. Look 
at the faces that display themselves upon the walls 
of Somerset House ! They are the signs of the 
times ! 

The above common-place, money-getting " leather 
and prunella" exhibition of stupid heads, is now 
justly superseded in popularity by the Water-colour 
paintings, which are admirable. Wright's picture 
from Tom Jones, in the exhibition of last year, was 
one of the most perfect and clever productions we 
ever saw. Hunt's figures from rustic life are all 



80 

inimitable, and his studies of " heads " in the pre- 
sent exhibition, are such as might make the Royal 
Academy shrink abashed. Compare these, and his 
" Mendicant," with the innumerable awkward blocks 
now " shown up r at Somerset House ! In histori- 
cal composition also, the water colourists are ad- 
vancing with rapid steps, as shown in the produc- 
tions of Stone, Varley, Sharpe, Chisholm, &c. — the 
landscapes and sea-pieces of G. F. Robson, Turner, 
Finch, Evans, C. Fielding, Barret, &c. are all 
exquisite ; and some of them possess a beauty and 
grandeur of effect, from which the invidious accu- 
sation of their being worked up with u body- 
colour/' does not in the least detract, even if it was 
used to the extent supposed ; which is by no means 
the case. 

Of what good is the Royal Academy ? As an 
Exhibition it has become almost worthless ; and as 
a national institution for the education and encour- 
agement of native talent, it is no better*. " The 



* See the New Monthly, May 1st. The xioyal Academy 
Exposed. 



81 

walls are loaded with trash ! cry the public. True 
— but trashy portraits; and every fool who has had 
his likeness taken, sends twenty more fools, at a 
shilling a-piece, to stare at it!" As to its value 
as a school for art, how few important names can 
it boast, when we know that Opie, Stanfield, Mar- 
tin, Turner, Wilkie, Varley, Danby, with Flaxman, 
Gibson, Chantrey, &c. owe nothing to its instruc- 
tions. Wilkie remained for a long time " un- 
noticed and unknown, till his native talent dis- 
played in a shop window at Charing Cross, fixed 
the attention of the public — the public approved, 
and then the Academy found merit in his works * ! 
Sir Thomas Lawrence, in his youth, received pre- 
miums from the Society of Arts; but when he 
became a probationer for admission to the schools 
of the Royal Academy, his claim was not allowed, 
and he withdrew to seek eminence without their 
instructions ! " 

In the present exhibition at Somerset House, 

# We do not think this latter statement is strictly correct. 
Before his first picture was exhibited at Somerset House, 
his productions sold at very low prices. 

E 3 



82 

one thing must startle every beholder with sudden 
admiration. We mean, the extraordinary splen- 
dour of the frames ! It is scarcely possible to form 
an estimate of the gross value of them all, because 
one frame-maker will charge almost double the sum 
of another ; but of this we are convinced — that if 
all the frames were sold by auction, the amount 
produced, would equal that of the paintings. This 
singular coincidence will strike every uninterested 
observer who knows anything of frames and pic- 
tures. 

The Royal Academy is now in the same con- 
dition as the rest of our large establishments ; 
whether of the great Government itself, or the 
smaller ones of Theatres, Publishers, &c. They 
have all had vast means, and strong men : the first 
they have foolishly or knavishly squandered, and 
the outcast and ruin of the latter is now the conse- 
quence. With them must fall the whole machine 
they alone could properly sustain with lasting 
honour. The only means of salvation lies in giving 
fair play and fair reward to men of genius, &nd 
men of ability and integrity. 



83 

There is no class so tenacious upon the score 
of criticism as that of artists ; and if they regard 
the mere ephemeral impertinences of those who 
attack their works, without perhaps having seen 
them, and often, as is evident from the remarks, 
only from a cursory glance — as criticism, they 
are so far both right and wrong : but it is their 
indignation that any individual who is not a pro- 
fessional artist, with the same diploma in his pocket 
that they hold, should presume to question the 
applauded merits of one, or the propriety of 
neglecting another, that makes them very unrea- 
sonable, and not unfrequently as ridiculous. To 
write about the anatomy in a picture, it is necessary 
that we should understand anatomy, but not that 
we should be able to draw correctly ourselves ; to 
write about colouring, it is requisite that we should 
have studied it well, both in nature and in art ; but 
not that we should be able, either to mix it for the 
pallet, lay it on, or know all the chemical experi- 
ments connected with it, for temporary effects, or 
for lasting ones ; to write about expression of intel- 
lect, or passion, however, we presume it is only 



84 

necessary to refer to our own natures, and accord- 
ing to the extent of those qualities in us, so far 
our right of criticism extends — and we might add, 
their right of being Painters ! 

Nevertheless, we do not doubt but we have 
already said enough to provoke many of the Royal 
Academicians to bestow upon us the very ancient 
diploma of blockhead and fool ; and this we accept 
without offence, seeing none in it, in fact, because 
we are all fools; the only difference is in the gra 
dations. 



X. 

Men of Science, and original Projectors 
and Inventors. — The most dangerous moral 
position that a human being can be placed in, is 
to be wiser or better than the rest of mankind. 
Roger Bacon — may we be permitted to mention 
his name ? — was the father of more original dis- 
coveries than any other man of his time ; darkened 
as it was by ignorance and monkish superstitions ; 



85 

or perhaps than any other who preceded him. But 
there is scarcely one for which he is now honoured, 
even by remote inference, (except the discovery of 
the telescope and gunpowder — which are ques- 
tioned,) and the whole gratitude of posterity is 
merged in the general idea of an extravagant 
impostor, who set up a brazen head, and a mere 
mountebank magician # . His works on alchemy, 
astrology, &c, which were the scientific " taste of 
the day," and the cleverest curiosities of the kind 
— or he would not have been imprisoned by order 
of the pope, and half starvedj- — have ruined his 
fame for ever. He went too far beyond " the 
day ; " he knew too much ; he was a great experi- 
mentalist ; and was imprisoned a second time, for 
ten years ! His posthumous fate is a melancholy 
and recoiling comment upon the vulgar notion of 
the brazen head. Time, indeed, is past ! — and 
Now, Then, and void Oblivion, is the sole portion of 
all men ; but where an individual has a claim upon 

* Bale, de Script. 111. p. 114. Jebb, Pref. to Bacon's Opus 
Majus, &c. 
t Bacon, Epist. ad Clem. IV. 



86 

the gratitude of after years, it is hard to have the 
latter accelerated beyond others. There is a vulgar 
prejudice in ages, as well as in life's brief day ; 
and for some men of genius there is no justice, 
even in posterity. The practical ground work of 
the philosophy of Epicurus, is moderation ; and he 
is always quoted as the type and advocate of excess. 
Nor has the lofty morality and fortitude of Zeno, 
by being confounded with stocks and stones, been 
much better treated. 

The real sense of " Epicurus' sty" 
Is, that posterity agree to lie : 
Cant, bigotry, vice, weakness, reign 
O'er Zeno's virtue of disdain ! 

We believe there is little hope of justice for 
such men, though there may be some danger 
to those who put in a word for their defence. 
Some poets and philosophers are over-rated, and 
others, perhaps their superiors, are little spoken of, 
and less read ; as Hobbes, of whom Locke is the 
unacknowledged creditor; the old English dra- 
matists, Decker. Marlowe, Webster, Chapman, — 
the spiritual translator of Homer, — and others. So 



87 

much for the perverse inequalities of fame : let us 
now look at its highest posthumous justice, and 
how insubstantial and inadequate is the reward of 
labour, disappointment and wrongs — incessant as 
inevitable — how entirely abstracted from the in- 
dividual's actual human sufferings ! Copernicus 
refused to publish his astronomical theory — the 
work of a long life — till he was almost on his 
death-bed. He died a few hours after the first 
printed copy was sent to him — and escaped. 
What recompense is it to the profound and 
accomplished Galileo, who boldly stood forth to 
argue and prove its truth to the Florentines, that 
his name is now used to "point a moral ?" He 
was poor and old when Milton visited him in 
prison ; and at length became blind. 

Where, however, a man happens in future ages 
to receive his due meed of fame affixed to his life's 
poor remnant — his name ; it is clear that scarcely 
any original inventor ever reaps the least benefit 
from his discovery, valuable as it may be, during his 
human existence. The mind and body must both 
draw their nourishment from imagination — that is, 



88 

from an ideal contemplation of the u grass that is 
growing." The original projector, after being 
ridiculed and opposed, or utterly neglected, dies 
in distress ; since, being sure of the truth or prac- 
ticability of that which he has so long and deeply 
digested, if he chance to possess any pecuniary 
means of forwarding his project, he speedily ruins 
himself — and is left alone with his discovery ! The 
next person who takes it up, and improves upon it, 
is the one who reaps all the advantage ; and per- 
haps without possessing any real claim, even upon 
the score of labour and perseverance, not to men- 
tion the endurance of all the scoffs and jeers of 
folly and pretension, personal interest, or perverse 
ignorance # . 

How many an unfortunate mechanist or chemist, 
has passed a life of voluntary seclusion and inces- 
sant labour ; patient under repeated failure, and of 
inexhaustible perseverance amidst the pressure of 
immediate distress; in order to perfect some ori- 

* Great travellers have generally been ridiculed and abused 
during the greater part of their lives, as was the case with 
Bruce and others. 



89 

ginal invention, or render practical some important 
discovery : 

Like a Prometheus chained by his own will*. 

By him the progress of time, with all its con- 
tingencies, has been little noted ; the light of day, 
perhaps, exchanged for the noxious vapour and the 
sullen lamp, and scarce distinguished from the 
night. Amidst this one unbroken, changeless 
round, with eye for ever bent upon his sole object, 
he pauses at times perchance to think of his human 
state — looks at the close, dismal walls, and low 
oppressive ceiling, that entomb his lone form- 
obscure, neglected, squalid, and without a friend — 
gazes with fixed eye, while his chin drops upon his 
raised hand, at the only companion of his toil — 
that wasting lamp — and thinks of his own existence 
— of his boyhood, his past years — his wrecked 
hopes, affections, passions — of far-off deliverance — 
of present want — of suicide — and futurity ! (We 
will not suppose him to have a wife and children. 
It is impossible. If he ever had, they must have 

* Albert, or the Fatalist, 



90 

died long since !) With a deep, desponding sigh, 
he returns to his toil, and thus continues till sick- 
ness or premature decay has brought him to the 
threshold of the grave. He beholds his task 
accomplished, and knows that future times will be 
greatly benefitted by it ; he seeks to make it known, 
so that he may now reap the reward of his pro- 
longed labour and hard endurances, in a sufficient 
maintenance or employment for the poor residue of 
his existence. Will a possible medal or small pre- 
mium effect this ? There is nought beyond ; but 
the far greater chances are, that he only meets 
with entire disappointment, and the more certain, 
gross, and reiterated, in proportion to the value of 
his discovery or invention. His task being done, 
his fortitude is now "pushed out of date" — he 
has not the ideal, sustaining hopes and imaginings 
of an Author — he depends more upon the practical 
and immediate — a deep sinking of the heart and 
all his faculties, quickly ensues; and he drops a 
willing, worn-out victim, into the ready grave. 

All this is very well known. There may be 
some, among those who have never experienced 



91 

aught of the vicissitudes of life, and the absence 
of its necessary requisitions, who may glance over 
the picture with an easy eye ; by the generality, 
however, we believe, its truth will be instantly 
admitted; or knowledge of facts and humane 
sympathy, can occupy but a small space in their 
heads and hearts. There are many also, to whom 
it will " come home ,? bitterly close. 

The greater the man, the greater his difficulties. 
We do not think a general reader will easily guess 
from whose Biography we extract the following ? 

"While yet a boy, he seems to have been fonder 
of rambling about the fields, and perusing the 
great book of Nature, than the folios of the schools; 
for so little satisfaction does he seem to have given 
his first teachers, that his father, dissatisfied with 
the reports of his progress, contemplated binding 
him to the trade of a shoemaker ! The inter- 
vention of friends, and his own earnest entreaties, 
however, at last persuaded his parent to permit 
him to study the profession of medicine. At the 
university we find him rising into distinction even 
in the midst of extreme poverty — in want of books 



92 

— in want of clothes — in want of bread to eat — 
and even patching up old shoes with the bark of 
trees*, to enable him to wander into the fields in 
prosecution of his favourite study of botany, " 

This was the great Linnaeus — the enthusiastic 
master of every subject he attempted. 

i( While yet a mere youth, he was pitched upon 
by the Academy of Sciences of Upsal, to explore 
the dreary regions of Lapland, and to ascertain 
what natural productions they contained ; and we 
find him embarking with ardour in this laborious 
and solitary undertaking, with a pittance barely 
sufficient to defray the expenses of his journey. 
After his return from this scientific expedition, he 
commenced a course of public lectures on botany 
and mineralogy in the University of Upsal f : he 
was full of the subject, and the novelty and 



* This singular coincidence, in the only possible way, of 
the ruling passion of Linnaeus, with his father s idea of what 
he was fit for, has a keeping in it, at once romantic and 
melancholy. 

f After his death a statue was erected to his memory in 
the gardens of this very place; and a king pronounced an 
eulogy over the genius of three kingdoms. 



93 

originality of his discourses immediately drew 
around him a crowded audience : but envy, which 
too often is the malignant concomitant of rising 
talent, soon blasted his fair prosperity. It was 
discovered, that, by a law of the university, no 
person was entitled to give public lectures unless 
he had previously taken G a degree' Linnaeus un- 
fortunately had obtained no ' academic honours ; 
and Dr. Rosen, the Professor of Medicine, accused 
him before the Senate, and insisted that the Sta- 
tutes should be put in force. What must have been 
the feelings of the youthful, ardent, and aspiring 
botanist, at this harsh and oppressive measure ! 
Conscious of superior talents, full of hope, and 
flushed with the success of his first effort, he was 
by this ungenerous proceeding excited to mad- 
ness ; v (meaning, passion;) " and goaded on to 
the extremity of desperation, he drew his sword 
upon Rosen at the door of the senate-house, and 
attempted to stab him." 

Linnaeus remained in distressed circumstances 
for some years after this event, and only overcame 
them at length, by one of those " lucky chances 



94 

which do more for a physician than all his learn- 
ing and industry*." 

All this might have occurred in England; 
and under similar circumstances, there can be no 
doubt of it. Dr. Rosens are to be found in abun- 
dance among us : it is such men as Linnaeus that 
are the rarities. When these extraordinary in- 
dividuals have appeared, we have always received 
them in a similar manner. Was not Priestley 
driven from his native town, just escaping with 
life, after his library and instruments had been 
destroyed, and his house burned; the clergy 
shouting on the rabble to charge the' hosts of the 
impious ! 

Whether in physics or metaphysics, — astronomy, 
geology, medicine, surgery, agriculture, &c. &c. 
all have fared the same. " There is no doubt 
that if a person two hundred years ago, had 
foreseen and attempted to put in practice the 
most approved and successful methods of culti- 
vation now in use, it would have been a death- 

* Vide Chambers' Edinburgh Journal, No. 56. 



95 

blow to his credit and fortune*." This needs 
no written comment. Kant declares, in speaking 
of Kepler, "that he would not have exchanged 
one of his discoveries for a principality .f" A just 
estimate : but our lower world founded an excellent 
argument upon this, for the propriety of letting 
him die of want J." Harvey^s discovery of the 
circulation of the blood, which, without the aid 
of any professional knowledge, one would have 
thought must at least have struck the common 
sense of people as a very feasible thing; not to 
detract anything from the originality of the first 
conception ; was strongly disputed, by all the great 
practitioners of the day. The admission would 
have been far from a reproach to any of these 
Rosens, and they might have made the best of it. 
His house was subsequently set on fire, and his 
library, with manuscripts, the product of many 
years, was entirely burned. The opinion of an 
eminent anatomist of the present day, that this 

* Hazlitt on Thought and Action. 

t Kant's Lectures. 

X See Kastner's Epigram ; So hoch war noch kein, &c. 



96 

Igonstrous outrage was not so much upon account 
of his being a Royalist, as from the ignorant 
Puritans considering his writings as a kind of 
" black art," is no doubt the bitter secret of the 
transaction. We know that all the great chemists 
of early times, were looked upon as necromancers 
and dealers with the devil ; all great philosophers, 
as impious blasphemers ; and all great mechanists, 
dating from Archimedes, as madmen ! 

Even Newton, long since the true oracle of 
science, was so worried and grieved by the inva- 
riable opposition that was raised to all his new 
discoveries, especially by his persevering harpy, 
Hooke, that, worn out with the annoyance, he 
eventually solicited the secretary of the Royal So- 
ciety to suppress any cavilling, philosophical com- 
munications, as much as possible*. This naivete 
is at once amusing, and illustrative of the integral 
simplicity of a man's feeling, who quietly knows 

* The public are made acquainted with this fact, and with 
similar cases of many others, which we cannot spare room to 
mention, in the Biographical Sketches contained in the 
Penny Magazine, Chambers' Edinburgh Journal, &c. 



97 

that he is right, and does not like to be teased with 
impertinencies. Newton's sensibility, however, was 
not proof against all these cross tides, and he sub- 
sequently adopted the easiest method of evading 
them, and for some time resolutely declined to 
publish his discoveries, declaring that "it was as 
bad as engaging in law suits ! " His great work 
on Optics, he withheld till after the death of 
Hooke # . 

At the present time there is no bookseller who 
will publish at his own expense, any work of 

* "It is said the Optics of Newton had no character or 
credit here, till noticed in France ! It would not he the only 
instance" (it would only he one of the inevitable r -oes) " of an 
author writing above his own age, and anticipating its more 
advanced genius. This melancholy truth is illustrated by the 
fate of the Marquis of Worcester, who in the reign of Charles 
II., offered to publish the hundred processes and machines 
enumerated in his c Century of Inventions ; ' if the King 
would extricate him from the difficulties in which he had 
involved himself by the prosecution of useful discoveries. 
This extraordinary pamphlet was probably read with ridicule ; 
the petition, at least, ivas never attended to ! — He had antici- 
pated the age we live in: the Telegraph and the Steam 
Engine, he contemplated in fancy, he would now see on our 
roads, and in our common manufactories."— Calamities of 
Authors. Vol. I. 



98 

science, of whatever ability, unless its author al- 
ready possess a highly popular reputation *. If 
a man can maintain himself during the construc- 
tion of an important work, he can do nothing with 
it when it is completed : invent a new and admi- 
rable machine, and it will be your ruin. 

These things have been as common with us, as 
rare in France. The writer in the Penny Maga- 
zine, in speaking of the 6 Jacquard Loom/ dwells 
upon the c arbitrary government of Napoleon,' in 
causing the inventor to be brought quickly before 
him by the gens d'armes ; but passes lightly 
over the pension of a thousand crowns^ which 
was ordered him, together with important em- 
ployment, directly his invention had been fairly 
proved ! It is to be regretted that the various excel- 
lent periodical disseminators of general knowledge, 

* Notwithstanding this, we hope ere long, by the overthrow 
of the old system, that Mr. Todd, author of the recently 
published, minute, and talented work on the Organ of Hearing 
(the most novel part of which— the connexion between that, 
and the larynx — the critic in the Glasgow Medical Journal, 
considers " unintelligible ; ") will find an advantageous means 
of giving publicity to the new theory of Life, to which he 
alludes in the same work. 



99 

should not draw such pointed inferences from 
their sketches of the biography of great men, as 
to show the public more forcibly, how ill their 
benefactors have been requited, and call the atten- 
tion of the age to some means for intercepting it in 
future. The violent excitement of the manufac- 
turers, on Jacquard's return to his native place, 
where his life was three times attacked, (though 
they were afterwards compelled to adopt his loom, 
the superiority of which could alone save them 
from ruin,) shows that Napoleon was right in the 
political view he took of the matter, and the 
prompt measures he adopted. 

Arkwright, who was originally a country barber, 
made a large fortune. This is easily said ; but 
what were his difficulties in doing so? His right 
of patent was tried in the Court of King's Bench 
and set aside ! And subsequently, with the pecu- 
niary assistance of several persons whom he was 
obliged to admit as partners, and an expenditure 
of 12,000/., he was nevertheless compelled to 
encounter every difficulty and opposition during 
five years, before any profit was derived from his 

f 2 



100 

admirable mechanism. When he had finally suc- 
ceeded, the manufacturing countries all declared 
that he had stolen the invention ! 

The history of a few of these injustices is that 
of numbers, and the exceptions are generally as 
bad as the examples. There are no bounds to the 
ignorance and malice of the scoundrel world ! 

We can all recollect a few years back, during 
the feeble reign of primeval lamp-light (so friendly 
to pickpockets of the lower class, and slumbering 
watchmen, and also to our Cossack allies) that the 
individual who projected lighting the streets with 
gas, was looked upon as "a madman " by nearly the 
whole town, which was " up in arms" against it ! 
And now all London, we may say, all England, is 
in a blaze with it through the live-long night ! 
But who troubles himself to think of the pro- 
jector's exasperated feelings ? — or who thinks of 
him at all, his name or fortunes ? We do not know 
whether he was ruined by the " mad scheme ; " 
but for the sake of laying one's self open to the 
severe correction of those who advocate the well- 
working of the " old system ;" on the sole grounds 



101 

of our belief in the world's common usance ; 
suppose, upon a venture, we affirm that he was 
ruined, and leave somebody else to prove that he 
was not ? 

The story of Fulton, who first introduced the 
steam boat in America, is, if possible, yet more 
provoking. After being the laughing stock of 
every body while pursuing his object and making 
experiments, he at length announced that he was 
prepared to take a boat up the Hudson River, and 
solicited passengers to come on board to witness 
his success. Many came, and to their very great 
surprise, the boat moved forward upon her course. 
It had not proceeded far however, before it stopped 
abruptly ; and the general voice immediately ex- 
claimed at the absurdity of the project ! ' We 
said it would never succeed ! ' &c. Fulton 
addressed them mildly ; declaring that he did 
not know the cause at present, but if they would 
have a little patience, he would descend and see. 
He did so ; and soon rectifying the error, the boat 
again moved forward, and amidst the incessant 
cavilling of the learned and unlearned fools, and 



102 

their momentary expectation of another and a final 
stoppage, proceeded steadily till it reached Albany, 
and then returned to New York ; thus performing 
a distance of nearly three hundred miles. When, 
however, they had reached home, as Fulton writes 
in a letter to a friend, " he was still doomed to be 
disappointed : imagination superseded fact ; they 
said he could not do it again — and if he could, 
what was the use of it ?;" 

If we may be excused the introduction of a 
passing idea, let us suppose that Fulton had been 
a man of strong and sensitive passions, like Lin- 
naeus ; and being sure in his own mind, of the 
practical truth of his project, and exasperated at 
the obstinate ignorance of the denial, even of his 
demonstration by fact, had determined to enforce 
their admission. We will imagine that he proposed 
a short trip along the coast, instead of inland, and 
finding them bent upon denying his success, how- 
ever palpable, had suddenly put his highest power 
upon the engine, and run straight out to sea ; 
strongly barricading all entrance to himself and 
his assistant engineers ! After a sufficient shameful 



103 

excitement of their alarm ! unphilosophical out- 
rage upon their persons! abominable working upon 
their worst fears ! and barbarous refusal to answer 
any of their hurried interrogations of consternation, 
threats, execrations, and humble prayers — we will 
imagine the boat suddenly stopping ! and that 
amidst their aghast silence at the dread of an 
explosion, the voice of Fulton had been heard 
in a firm tone, insisting upon a general apology, 
and an unqualified admission of his mastery, in 
all respects ? 

There might have been a few indomitable spirits, 
whom the fear of death would not have overcome 
(making a perverse power of will its own motive 
to hold out) ; but the terrors of the mass would 
have prevailed, and they would all have been made 
as ridiculous then, and at once, as they are now. 
The utmost they could have said, after being 
brought safe to land, would have been, that 
Fulton was a madman ! This is no more than 
they said in the first instance ; and is a very stale 
excuse for ignorance. If, however, he had for a 
time gone mad with being right, he would at all 



104 

events have returned the compliment by making 
them equally so, with the impassioned logic of 
the dilemma ! 



XI. 

The March of Intellect. Vide Sections I. 
II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X.— We 

cannot refrain from observing ; whatever umbrage 
may, and perhaps ought to be taken at it; that 
the various factual details and allusions contained 
in the foregoing pages, can have no pretensions to 
originality of information. Most of those things 
have long been known to the Government — the 
Press — and the Public. Not so, however, we are 
willing to believe, the inference from the Whole, 
and the means of obviating the heinous anomaly. 



EXPOSITION OF CAUSES. 
I. 

General View. — It requires genius to discover 
genius : there must be, in some respects, an equality 
in kind, though not in degree, fully or even rightly 
to appreciate original works of truth and power. It 
is as impossible for a man whose heart does not 
sympathise with that of his author, and whose 
imagination cannot meet him half way, to enter 
into the feelings and thoughts of any great genius, 
as for the pinVpoint eye of a mole to behold, with 
due admiration, the majesty of the mid-day sun ; 
or a geometric figure to feel and pulsate with his 
immortal rays. " The heart," says the great 
modern critic, " is the most central of all things ;" 
y3 



106 

and in every question of ennobling human passion, 
and its powers of wisdom and of virtue, for the 
head to endeavour to work without it, and apart 
from all reference to its oracular pulses, is as 
if a planet should attempt to describe an orbit 
independent of all gravitation. What wild results, 
what presumptuous errors and ridiculous follies, 
have we seen ! Commentators have conceited 
that they walked above the spheres, and like Don 
Quixote and Sancho, blindfold on the wooden 
hobby, have never really moved a pace, except in 
their own vain excited fancies ; and many tempo- 
rary critics, while they have lauded mediocrity to 
the very skies, have run their heads against the 
rocks that will stand for ages, the beacons of time. 

The many names of those in high scholastic 
repute, who were firm and conspicuous believers in 
the well-known fudge of the Shakspeare Manu- 
scripts, and whose immediate and strenuous support 
was in converse proportion to that which, according 
to immemorial custom, they would have shown to 
the self-same merit if produced as the work of a 
living Author, proves the above position. When 
young Ireland put forth other writings, acknow- 



107 

ledged as his own, their merit was utterly denied : 
we can easily understand why persecution was 
adopted instead. Certainly the provocation \^as as 
great to the individuals, as ludicrous to posterity. 
Boswell knelt down before the hoax, and " thank- 
ing God that he had lived to witness the day when 
the treasures of the divine bard were laid before 
him, r> imprinted a reverend kiss upon the sacred 
volume * ! Who will believe that these men could 
understand Homer or Shakspeare ? 

The above is only one proof, among innumerable 
others, that the average of professional critics are 
influenced in their decisions by the verbal mould, 
style, and mannerism, rather than the only true 



* It was the cleverest trick any boy ever played. The 
manner in which this young pickle of eighteen hunted 
the book-stalls all over London, to find detached sheets of 
blank paper bearing the water-mark of the date of Shakspeare, 
and then wrote in a hand which is often approaching to a 
fac-simile, with tobacco water, that in eight and forty hours 
looked centuries old, proves him to have possessed extraor- 
dinary ingenuity and perseverance. There was no intended 
offence in his mind towards Shakspeare or thp world. As 
Hazlitt's Essay is the finest philosophical exposition, so young 
Ireland's hoax is the finest practical proof, of the Ignorance 
of the Learned. 



108 

evidence, which is the spiritual. But then to 
obtain a judgment from this source, they must look 
within themselves and compare notes with the 
original ; and as the two can seldom bear compa- 
rison, from the inferiority or natural difference of 
the critic from the author, self-love always asserts 
its dominion, unless the subject in question pos- 
sess a great established reputation. And even 
this does not often save a man from the querulous 
vanity of the straining gnat and puffed-up frog. 

It may seem extraordinary, however, that many 
men of genius, whose merits and superiority have 
been admitted to a considerable extent during 
their lives, should have been left precisely to the 
same distressing fate as those who were quite un- 
known. The King of Spain seeing a student at 
some distance, laughing immoderately and throw- 
ing himself into extravagant attitudes, exclaimed, 
" That man is either mad, or reading Don Quixote ! ,? 
Every body was delighted with the book : the 
King's saying passed into every mouth ; yet at the 
very time the insensible animal utters it, he knows 
that Cervantes is in prison for a paltry debt ! 
Camoens was treated in a similar manner by King 



109 

Sebastian and his court : they all applauded the 
Lusiad as the greatest work in their language, 
which language was itself almost as much indebted 
to him as the Italian to the exiled Dante. In the 
reign of Sebastian's successor^ Camoens dies of 
hunger, disease, cold, and a broken heart. The 
same with the author of Hudibras, the wittiest 
writer, as well as the first scholar of his age. The 
King and all his courtiers are delighted with the 
extraordinary poem, and Butler starves ! We have 
mentioned the royal treatment of Stowe, Rush- 
worth, Swift, &c. The refusal of King William 
to attend to the petition of the latter for the next 
vacancy to one of the prebendaries of Westminster 
or Canterbury, according to his own promise, was 
perhaps owing to pique at Swift's having declined 
the King's offer to make him a captain of horse ! 
What comprehension, honour, and magnanimity ! 
The treatment of Spenser and others was not a jot 
better. When, in addition to the natural dis- 
tinction of genius, titles of convention have also 
chanced to be possessed by the individual, the 
courtly prominence has only helped to promote 



110 

him to the scaffold, as was the case with Sir 
Walter Raleigh, the Earl of Surrey, Sir Thomas 
More, &c. 

In the early ages, notwithstanding the prodigies 
of genius and art that were produced, the physical 
was considered, among the mass of mankind, as of 
far more importance than the mental ; and this was 
manifested during some centuries after among the 
warlike feudal lords, few of whom could read or 
write. Barbarian emperors rightly judged bodily 
strength and ignorance, to be the main props of 
their thrones ; and intellectual qualities, as danger- 
ous to their tyrannical sway. Hence, their remorse- 
less murder of most of the great philosophers and 
men of virtue, with the persecution of all true no- 
bility. The feudal lords usually adopted the same 
plan, when they had the chance. The vicious spirit, 
originating in fear and jealousy, has remained upon 
the earth ever since, though modified in its mani- 
festations as the people advanced to a higher degree 
of civilisation, which induced an outward respect 
to legal forms, whatever the secret inclination might 
be. A nod from a Roman Emperor sufficed for 



Ill 

the judge, jury and executioner, of any man whose 
superiority induced the re-action of the despot's 
self-love, as he looked into himself and felt the 
unbearable distinction between natural and con- 
ventional nobility, or between wisdom and brute 
will, virtue and depravity. The gross monster 
Henry VIII., who by nature was only fit to reign 
over the shambles and the brothel, could not rest 
till he had shed the blood of the placid and mag- 
nanimous Sir Thomas More, directly their respec- 
tive characters were brought into opposition by the 
firm virtue of the latter. The heartless Autocrat 
of Russia — accursed of God and man — is a living 
example of the half-insanity of a grasping and 
blood-thirsty self-will in despotism. Innate mean- 
ness is the usual concomitant of tyrannic cruelty. 
A wretch like this, dare not tolerate any ability or 
fine spirit that is not exclusively subservient to his 
sway, or his idlest humours. Napoleon was the 
greatest patron of genius and art in every possible 
class, that ever lived. Those only who are con- 
scious of superiority in themselves apart from their 
station ; w r ho possess capaciousness of intellect, and 



112 

power to do or suffer; can be above all petty 
jealousies and fears, and thus fit to govern others. 
The epitaph of James I. ought to be his murder 
of Raleigh. Elizabeth is represented as a patron 
of genius, though with no great proofs of generosity 
or proper appreciation. Shakspeare she only treated 
as an amusing play-wright ; and as he never meddled 
with " public spirit" and politics, she suffered him 
to continue his labours unmolested. But she could 
not forgive the unfortunate Mary for her beauty, 
both personal and intellectual, and her many literary 
accomplishments ; and these, if she had found no 
other reason for bringing her to the block, were 
sufficient to have caused her imprisonment. She 
could not forgive Spenser for his Cave of Mammon, 
and all the prodigious riches which he heaped up in 
his gorgeous verse. It was like melting her crown 
and all its possessions before her face. Let ]him 
live in penury, since he can write so prodigally ! 
There is, at best, a tacit malignity in all these 
royal feelings, which will easily account for the 
neglect of men of genius, and when it throws off 
the mask, for their persecution or destruction. It 



113 

would not be difficult to instance this down with 
the March of Intellect. 

But to return. Men of ability die in distress, 
unacknowledged and unknown ; and men of known 
and acknowledged ability, die in the same way. 

Now, this cruel injustice is induced — putting 
kings and courtiers out of the question — by the 
selfish apathy of mankind. We shall account for 
it, by the general want of a sympathetic appreci- 
ation in the first instance; want of knowledge of 
the real merits of the author, reiterated and en- 
forced by those who can teach it them, in the 
second ; and lastly, in a want of practical continuity 
to the sentiments or sensibilities that may be excited 
upon the occasion. Everybody is good at church, 
or elsewhere, if they hear a fine moral exhortation ; 
the same at the theatre, or in reading of virtue 
and generosity ; but this has nothing to do with 
the immediate business of life, and their own 
personal views, prejudices, and passions; and 
hence their entire neglect to act upon what they 
feel for the time being, perhaps in all its force. 
Unless the duties of gratitude and humanity are 



114 

incessantly rung in our ears, and the portraits of 
our own moral cruelty, torpidity, and selfishness, 
held up to our view almost at every turn, we seem 
to escape from the idea very easily, under cover of 
ignorance, forgetfulness, occupation, or sentiment*. 
As a consequence of the above, one common and 
no less cogent reason of the neglect of great works 
by the world during an author's life, is because, 
with few exceptions, they are deficient. in such gross 
or palpable excitement as must be generally under- 
stood and felt, and owe its influence to tempo- 
rary circumstances and events. The absence of 
excitement, either suited to the time at which they 
first appear, or their being entirely without it, is a 
very natural cause of the general and lasting indif- 
ference. The world is not inhumane by intention ; 
but left to itself, and its own multiform and hete- 
rogeneous individualities, it permits in the aggre- 
gate, the occurrence of inhumane results tow r ards 



* It is remarkable how virtuous and generously disposed 
every one is at a play. We uniformly applaud what is right, 
and condemn what is wrong, when it costs us nothing but 
the sentiment— Hazlitfs Characteristics. 



115 

its benefactors. It is inhumane for want of inten- 
tion. Its pastors and masters are too self-interested. 
Authors are far from united among themselves; 
conflicting interests and passions, mar their own 
hopes with those of others ; they maintain a conti- 
nual civil war ; their brotherhood is only with the 
dead ; they are not true to each other while living, 
or commonly just. It requires genius to discover 
genius; but it requires magnanimity to act upon 
the discovery. 

These latter remarks will apply more especially 
to the neglect of great Epic Poets, Historians, Phi- 
losophers*, &c. It can be no striking matter of 

* It is a proof of the above argument, that the finest trans- 
lators (men of a " learned spirit"} of such works, centuries 
after, are usually neglected in the same manner as the origi- 
nals. Carey's fine translation of Dante met with the slowest 
and most limited success ; and the amiable and erudite 
Thomas Tailor, in speaking of his translation of Aristotle's 
Metaphysics, and his elucidation of the genuine doctrines of 
Pythagoras and Plato, says, "To accomplish this, I have 
devoted myself to the study of ancient wisdom, amidst the 
pressure of want, the languor of weakness occasioned by con- 
tinual disease, and severe toil in situations not only uncon- 
genial with my disposition, and highly unfavourable to such 
a pursuit, but oppressed by tyranny and aggravated by insult." 
— Introduct. to Aristot. Metaph. 



116 

wonder that they should be neglected during their 
lives, when we observe the limited favours they 
receive from posterity. Epic poems have never 
been popular in England ; and perhaps never will 
be. We are too phlegmatic ourselves; and an 
epic poem does not descend to make any advances. 
We might almost as well expect the Principia and 
the Novum Organumto be popular, or the works of 
Bishop Berkley and Leibnitz. The fame of Milton 
is popular enough, but Paradise Lost is not, even 
now, whatever the title may be. No poetry of real 
loftiness of abstract power, can ever find a place in 
the hearts and minds of general readers, being too 
far removed from all ordinary thoughts, feelings, 
and actions, that occupy and come home to the 
mass of men. The impertinence of our craving 
self-love is against it. When the contrary has been 
the case, upon the first appearance of a " soi-disant" 
epic, it is because there is nothing of that high 
character essentially in it ; and also that it suits 
some prevailing topic, cant, or taste of the day. 
We may perhaps admit that there are two kinds of 
epics, the sublime and the familiar (Don Quixote, 
Hudibras, and Don Juan, are of this class) ; it is, 



117 

however, of the former only, that we speak. They 
are always addressed to the " fit audience," and the 
very "few." Dante knew this, and was " justly dis- 
dainful" of temporary applause : so did Milton, and 
was content to be poor, and even risk having his life 
written by " a good hater." Cervantes, Camoens, 
Butler, &c. had reason to expect differently, their 
works being of a far more popular character and 
purpose, and they might well be surprised and 
broken-hearted at the barbarous neglect they 
themselves experienced. 



II. 

Defence of the Higher Orders. — We are 
not unaware that there are philosophers of a cer- 
tain class, who affirm that the personal miscon- 
duct or imprudence of men of genius, is the chief 
cause of their misfortunes. There is a very limited 
degree of truth in such a position ; " yet this I do 
say," (to use the words of one whose " virtues 



118 

and integrity became his crime, and wrought his 
ruin ; and were the cause of his banishment and 
death *y") " that nothing can add more to the 
afflictions of the unhappy who are unjustly perse- 
cuted, than when men think they justly deserve 
the miseries which they endure f." The above rea- 
soners either make a rule out of a few exceptions, 
or else instance a number of mediocre writers, or 
scribbling rabble who would have been a disgrace 
to any profession. Men of the first abilities have 
sometimes committed as great faults as men of no 
abilities ; and if errors weigh heavy and merits go 
for nought, they would in that case be equal. We 
do not deny the occasional misconduct of many 
superior men. It will generally be found, however, 
that it originates in misfortunes and injustice. 
Strong passions that can find no proper vent must 
either destroy the individual with their smouldering 
and wasting fire, or else break forth in wrong direc- 



* Preston. Life of Boetius. 

f Boetius. Consolation of Philosophy. B. i. pro. iv. The 
work was written in prison. 



119 

tions. The imprudence of sr.ch men in not taking 
advantage of a lucky chance, or gaining the best 
side of a bargain, is proverbially true, and proves 
as much of their nobility of feeling, as want of 
policy and worldly fore-thought. But how few men 
of genius are ever placed in a fair position, so as to 
have nothing but their misconduct against them ? 
And among those few, the exceptions are very rare. 
We might almost justify the heedlessness and 
extravagance of Sheridan, (whose dead body was 
seized by his creditors,) when we consider it as 
only commensurate with the expectations to which 
he had been led by Royalty. And how much 
more might be said in excuse for the conviviality 
of Burns? As to their improvidence or reckless 
extravagance when they happen to possess means, 
we may apply to them what the great dramatic 
critic says in allusion to actors : " They have no 
means of making money breeds and all professions 
that do not live by turning money into money, or 
have not a certainty of accumulating it in the end 
by parsimony, spend it. Uncertain of the future, 
they make sure of the present." For the miscon- 



120 

duct of Savage, and others who, like him, would 
not live respectably, we shall offer no apology. It 
is the cause of men of genuine ability, who are 
unable to procure honourable employment in the 
path where their excellence falls, that we advocate. 
It is not to be denied that many gifted authors and 
others (though not those of the highest class, who, 
were it only from just pride and dignified disdain, 
would not act dishonourably) have led reckless and 
disreputable lives ; but let it be remembered that 
"they are unfortunate before they are criminal," 
and that "men who are starved in society, hold 
to it but loosely." Genius supposes proportionate 
moral passions, as necessary to its distinction from 
common men ; and during a feverish youth and 
agonised manhood, the votary seeks fame with inde- 
fatigable toil, in midnight labours and noon-tide 
reveries; often pouring forth enthusiastic invoca- 
tions to hope, not knowing that it includes the 
same actual result as the poet's invocation to 
despair. 

Thou fascinating horror ! steep rne o'er 
In thy fond madness ; wooing eruptions^ 



121 

Till with combustion all the bubble breaks, 
Betraying the fool into his winding-sheet*. 

But before this relief from the misery of a 
life wasted for the world's advantage or amuse- 
ment, they go "naked, or all clothed in grief -f-;" 
and then is it surprising, if under the pressure and 
excitement of want and passion, they should com- 
mit acts, which, under moderate circumstances of 
comfort, they would have scorned or deprecated 
far more sincerely than the malicious calves of 
fortune and ease, who delight to sit in judgment 
over fallen merit. 

Let us consider the situation, at best, of a man of 
genius in society, before he has lost his claim to be 
admitted to its immaculate intercourse. It requires 
wealth to justify eccentricity to the world; and 
with this universal diploma, it stands for merit or 
wit; without wealth, it is an object of ridicule. 
But such a man must always seem eccentric in 
society, because he is more natural and original than 
the rest, who, in the average, are only second-hand 

* Drama of Joseph and his brethren. f Ibid. 



122 

copies of artificial forms ; " like unto the sign of 
the boots ! " In conversation the subjects that 
interest him most deeply, are usually those in which 
the generality take no interest at all. They are 
consequently astonished and confounded ; and 
being thrown back upon their own identity, only 
recover themselves by setting him down for a mad- 
man. A man must always appear mad, the cause 
and effect of whose excitements are not understood. 
In short, he is admired a little while — made use of 
as a tame ' lion ' — and then hated and ridiculed, 
without any change of conduct or intentional 
offence on his part. If he eventually commit a 
misdemeanour, legal or social, it is the happiest 
chance for his previous flatterers. The errors of 
genius are manna to the self-love of the world, 
because it seems to justify the splenetic re-actions 
of their restless envy. The most applauded being 
once in the public power, is made to refund all 
their admiration ; and is then crushed, or hooted 
at, with proportionate odium. ' You are brought 
down to our own level at last, and we will now 
hunt you to the lowest depths of disgrace." 



123 

The average number of men of genius and 
ability are, however, of an abstract or contempla- 
tive turn of mind, and were it not for the feverish 
necessity of struggling for ever with the thwarting 
world, and all its imperative wants, would lead a 
quiet life enough, and be content to leave all 
the noise, bustle and extravagance to soldiers, 
lawyers, merchants, and the other lords of the 
large market. How painfully is this exemplified 
in the following extract, which concludes " Tlie 
Case of a Man of Letters, of regular education, 
living by honest literary industry" 

" I have considered what I have written as mere 
trifles; and have incessantly studied to qualify 
myself for something better. I can prove that I 
have, for many years, read and written, one day 
with another, from twelve to sixteen hours a day. 
As a human being, I have not been free from 
follies and errors. But the tenor of my life has 
been temperate, laborious, humble, quiet, and, to 
the utmost of my power, beneficent. I can prove 
the general tenor of my writings to have been 
candid, and ever adapted to exhibit the most 

g2 



124 

favourable view of the abilities, dispositions, and 

exertions of others 

" For the last ten months I have been brought 
to the very extremity of bodily and pecuniary 
distress. I shudder at the thought of perishing 
in a gaol # ." 

This long, pathetic letter was addressed to the 
Literary Fund; and appears to have been seconded 
by the report of the physicians, as to his difficulties 
and illness being occasioned by the ce indiscreet 
exertion of his mind in protracted and incessant 
literary labours." The appeal was in vain, and he 
died in Newgate soon after. 

A man's genius is his own, and the intellectual 
effects of it, absolutely considered, are in his own 
power : not so his social position, or even his 
entire conduct. We may say with Wollaston, 
that u his prosperity or improsperity does not 

* The letter will be found entire,, as transcribed from the 
original, in the Calamities of Authors, vol. i. " Oh, ye popu- 
lace of scribblers, before ye are driven to a garret, and your 
eyes are filled with constant tears ! pause — recollect that not 
one of you possess the learning or the abilities of Heron j 
shudder at all this secret agony and silent perdition ! " 



125 

entirely depend upon his own prudence or impru- 
dence, but, in a great measure, upon his situation 
among the rest of mankind, and what they do*\" 
The errors and vices of common men, however 
magnitudinal and selfish, are treated lightly in 
comparison ; though we could clearly show how 
widely different are the respective causes^ if the 
various marked distinctions between passion and 
depravity, would not occupy too much time to 
discuss. The nonentities of mankind are the only 
purists. The public at large are the standard of 
moral character in theory ; men of genius are 
expected to be equally perfect in practice ! But 
sooth to say, the personal misconduct of men of 
genius, whether placed in a fit station or otherwise, 
is not one atom worse, even at their worst, than the 
misconduct of the countless mass of those " kings, 
lords, and commons," who die and leave nothing 
behind but the memory or effects of their vice and 
mischief. 

* Wollaston. Religion of Nature. 



126 



III. 



Our own times. — By such feelings as many 
will readily enter into with us, (but we trust they 
will do so to the end ?) we have been led to devote 
more space to the sufferings of men of genius than 
the conciseness of our design ought to have 
permitted. Nevertheless, we think it will not be 
doubted in this age of steam-engines and book- 
making, that with so wide a field as our present 
subject, we could easily have evaporated into the 
usual three volumes. But it was our intention to 
render the Exposition available to the community 
at large. Leaving, therefore, the irretrievable 
Past, whose countless injuries and tragic realities 
are but too well known; though the knowledge 
has never yet progressed into action; we shall 
proceed to the consideration of our own times, and 
endeavour to deduce some practical advantage 
from the long list of woful experiences. 

Notwithstanding all that has been said, and all 
that is well known, both by literary men in promi- 



127 

iient stations, and by the public ; notwithstanding 
the regular gradation of startling instances, which 
we may trace from Homer downwards; notwith- 
standing all the palpable obligations of progressive 
centuries, whose light, while they flourished, was 
chiefly owing to such men, even as that light is 
entirely so, which remains now that their empires 
have passed into dust ; and notwithstanding the 
present March of Intellect — assisted by nine thou- 
sand five hundred lawyers, &c. — a man of the 
greatest genius is as liable to be starved as ever. 
All the same causes exist by which such an indi- 
vidual has been starved. In his persecution, 
ruin, and destruction, the perpetration differs in 
nothing but manner, from the barbarous ages. 
This will be denied by many whose prejudices 
may be opposed to the belief, or whose expe- 
rience and knowledge may not furnish them with 
instances of unknown and deserving authors who 
are at this moment placed in almost the same 
situation as Mr. Banim was recently — a known and 
admired author — from which he has been, for a 
time, miraculously rescued. It must be seen that 



128 

we scarcely know how to take the liberty of naming 
such men, and thus rudely placing that pride in 
jeopardy upon which they choose to retire in 
silence*. We are not without diffidence in men- 
tioning the names of some who now belong not to 
mortality, but who scarcely ought to be subject to a 
commiseration that approaches too near their actual 
sojourn among us. Party-spirit and party-venom, 
we have none ; and if we had, the Dead are exempt 
from it ; yet if we may offer our sympathy to their 
manes, we would ask, whether the pure and noble- 
minded Shelley would not have received the meed 
of the other Martyrs, if he had not chanced to 
possess means independent of the world? Whether 
Keats, whom the " learned" could not find " intel- 
ligible," did not meet such doom — and more pre- 
maturely than Burns, whom everybody found 
intelligible — and whether the author of the Prin- 



* We are extremely gratified at learning the recent per- 
manent and real consideration that has been received by the 
author of Caleb Williams, Political Justice, &c. "Better 
late than never." We wish we could presume to mention 
several other names of applauded men living in actual want. 



129 

ciples of Human Action, and the only Life of that 
man whose greatness the natural sentiment of 
generosity and justice in Englishmen, has subse- 
quently caused them to admit and behold with 
admiration and respect, did not also share that 
lofty fate? He certainly escaped, by the refine- 
ment only of modern times, the death of Socrates 
and Seneca; but had it not been for the timely 
intervention of a few private friends, his last days 
certainly, if not his earlier ones, would have found — 
an equivalent. While living, the works of these 
individuals were to be seen upon all the second-hand 
book-stalls. Let any one endeavour to obtain copies 
of them now ? They are as fast in ascension, as 
some popular writers are on the decline. After 
the public, with its ' taste of the day,' has been 
saturated; the East and West Indies, and America 
into the bargain ; the secret is found out, and 
hydraulic time brings all things to their level. 

Who had power 
To make me desolate ?— whence came the strength ? 
How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth, 
While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp ? 
But it is so; and I am smothered up 

G 3 



130 

And buried from all godlike exercise 
Of influence benign. * 

It may be of little use to mention the name of 
the amiable Richard Ayton, a man of unaffected 
simplicity and original genius. His Essays have 
never been noticed, and probably never read by a 
dozen individuals. They were sold for waste paper. 
For the same reason we forbear to mention other 
unknown writers of real ability, as it would only 
expose them to the malevolence of those critics who 
would feel it a reflection upon their acumen, &c. 
to justify which, the neglect must either become 
wilful, and continue so to their abrupt end — or 
the work, which is the image of an author's mind, 
must be defaced and insulted. 

Inasmuch as there are some modern works, and 
many living men of the highest ability, quite 
unknown to the public, so certain it is, that most 
of the latter are in present circumstances of diffi- 
culty, if not of absolute distress. 

When an author's works have been wilfully 



* Keats's Hyperion, Book I. 



131 

defamed and written down, and with them all his 
fortunes, it may chiefly be attributed to the absence 
of any flattery on his part, of patrons, men in high 
place, or the great abuses of the time ; to his inde- 
pendence of opinion, and claiming an audacious 
right to his own freedom of soul ; and to his advo- 
cating the best feelings of our human nature. Such 
offences to the temporary politics, and other pass- 
ing opinions of his time, or only a part of it, have 
always sufficed to set aside all virtues of heart, and 
all powers of mind ; their exercise being prejudicial 
to the interest of the ' few/ who are opposed to the 
c many/ during the brief reign of the lunaries ; and 
their possessor has been cast into shadowy neglect 
in consequence, or else baited to the brink of the 
grave — where he is then left to stagger over, from 
exhaustion, despair, or disgust, and scorn of life 
and ungrateful man — so that " killing" may be 
u no murder !" 

Let us take one glance at the opposite side (of 
the grave) where the author has either not exposed 
himself to the unceasing virulence of party attacks ; 
or where he has succumbed to their fury, or their 
overtures, and to the pressure of distressing cir- 



132 

cumstances. Contempt and odium have been heaped, 
though not sufficiently, upon the " noble patrons" 
of Burns, who bestowed upon him the becoming 
situation of an Exciseman (thus proving either 
their innate meanness, or their idea of what they 
would have most liked themselves ;) therefore a 
great living poet has been " complimented' ' with 
an Excise situation of a little higher grade. If 
the first was promoted to a corporal, and the 
world is dissatisfied, this shall be a staff serjeant ! 
Out on such doings ! 

These are the men — the greatest of the age — 
who have been ridiculed, calumniated, and insulted, 
or left neglected to die in penury; and, in most 
cases, they have endured a combination of all. 
These, with a few others, are the writers to whose 
fame the clown Posterity — the Christophero Sly — 
will awake and find itself a lord in wisdom and vir- 
tue, fit to appreciate the great men, in whose works 
the knaves and blockheads (meaning us — " we who 
are the posterity of Milton and Shakspeare,") could 
find nothing but faults, puerilities, obscurity, or 
" sparkling writing ! " 

One consolation has existed in the hearts of those 



133 

men of genius ; one that grows out of a sense of 
natural devotion to the spirit of humanity ; a 
divine aspiration, and a belief that between them 
and " The Fathomless" must exist a communion 
and a unity, which the mortal contingencies of our 
earthly condition can never snap asunder. They 
may say of each other, 

" God did descend to form such excellence ; 
We must ascend to comprehend it done. 
Then what is He who mouldeth all these things, 
Merely as 'twere for exercise of truth ; 
And what are we, who look on them and die ? 
The children of His mercy : nor forlorn 
And cold into our bosoms will return 
Our mortal yearnings ; seeing we're allied 
To all the truth and beauty He hath made*." 



IV. 

Anatomy of false Oracles. — But if there 
be men now living of great capabilities, who are 
quite unknown to the Public, they cannot complain 



* Drama of Joseph. Act i. sc. ii. 



134 

of its neglect ? We have said as much already ; 
and partly in allusion to men who have never pub- 
lished at all. Why then do they not come forward, 
and at least give the world a chance of not neglect- 
ing them? If there be any unknown individual 
claiming original power, let him boldly come forth, 
and prove it ! 

" Let him come down from the cross !" Can we 
tamely hear these taunting invitations ? — can we pre- 
serve a decorum of composure while we know the 
Public to be under such erroneous impressions ? 

Men of genius who are in obscurity are required 
to come forward and prove their claims? And 
why they do not obey the call we will answer de- 
monstratively. 

They can no more rise to notice than a sapling 
oak can get through a city pavement. There is a 
false medium between their hopes and a fair hearing : 
there is a harrier between an Author's heart and 
the Public, be his work of what merit soever, which 
nothing but an accidental contingency, of wealth, 
rank, interest, &c, can surmount. Sometimes, not 
even these, unless exercised to the highest degree. 
There is a regular, common-place turnpike to the 



135 

first step on the high road of Fame, the only toll 
for which is mediocrity. There is a " Secret in all 
trades" — a " Skeleton in every house" — and every 
publisher has — his Reader ! Invisible behind his 
employer's arras, the author's unknown, unsuspected 
enemy, works to the sure discomfiture of all original 
ability. This is the fool in the dark, who knows 
not what he mars ! He is sometimes the knave ; 
in which case the publisher is made the unconscious 
fool : but, in either case, the Author is the victim. 

If human nature, in its ever-varied powers of 
passion and imagination, could be accurately mea- 
sured in all its involutions and elaborate details, 
by " a pair of compasses and a strip of parchment," 
or analysed by a chemical process ; if its limits 
could be ascertained by aid of a two-foot rule, or 
the depth of the heart be sounded with a graduated 
lead-line, there would be some chance that these 
gentlemen's verdicts might include truths commen- 
surate with the insignificance of the subjects exposed 
to their mechanical skill. But nature is made of 
materials they never take into the consideration. 
In a question of criticism, we would say to them, 



136 

" Dispute it like a man." They could not answer, 
" I shall do so ; but I must also feel it like a man ;" 
simply because they really feel nothing of the kind. 
They go to work with no more sensibility than a 
schoolmaster over Ovid and Virgil. They think 
only of the parts of speech, and the logic of the 
case, instead of that of the heart and the under- 
standing. Genius supposes originality ; an ori- 
ginal writer not unfrequently precedes his age — 
and always the taste of the day ! But this is beyond 
the rules. Novelty puts them out, and confuses 
all the understanding they possess. They are called 
upon to decide in a matter which no one has pre- 
viously decided for them. They see no precedent, 
and are all alone. They have but one principle of 
proceeding, viz. the somewhat questionable laws of 
criticism; and whenever they find a work is not re- 
ducible to these, or that they cannot make it coincide 
with the requisitions of mechanical caprice, it is 
pronounced illegitimate writing, and not to be tole- 
rated. Or suppose that it does not violate any of 
these veritable Shakspearian laws, the taste of the 
day is an indispensable requisition. Now this is a 



137 

systematic notion founded upon a gross error. If 
a work contain such excitement as the public can 
always feel, without any outrages upon nature in 
its matter, and without obscurities or barbarisms of 
style, it will be the taste of all days. If, in addition, 
it be a high and well-wrought structure, founded 
upon the true elements, it may come forth at any 
time — it would be appreciated — and would endure 
to the end of time. 

He who is incorrigibly versed in the rules of a 
stunted understanding, and without the primary im- 
pulse, or the interpretations of imagination, can only 
recollect, compare, and draw inferences. This will 
never suffice for comprehension, and the formation 
of a judgment respecting any original work, not 
exclusively scientific ; for what is he to compare it 
with ? The first principles of its foundation are 
beyond his comprehension, and consequently its 
results. A right judgment of the whole, therefore, 
becomes impossible. Even the details will com- 
monly be out of his reach, from a want of the 
original "key. 

Now if those manuscript works of genius which 



138 

are invariably condemned, were taken up by these 
same individuals in a printed form, by way of 
casual amusement, the generality of them, unless 
their minds had become thoroughly warped and 
cynical from long habit, would read on, and as the 
book interested them, they would experience a pro- 
portionate excitement, and look forward with a 
corresponding anxiety to the close of the essay or 
tale : then laying down the book with a pleasurable 
sensation according to their capacity of apprecia- 
tion, there the matter would end. This would be 
a fair criterion for the public. But when they sit 
down to a book professionally, as critics whose 
office it is to dissect details for the safety of their 
employers, and the benefit of the world at large, 
they put their feelings entirely out of the question ; 
and this is why they have always been wrong 
whenever they have had an opportunity, as all 
important facts clearly attest. 

The purpose for which these Readers are engaged, 
is to judge of the merit of manuscript works, and 
more especially of the degree and promptitude of 
their impulse upon the public mind. To arrive at 



139 

this .knowledge, and thereby accomplish the end 
of their employer, they proceed upon some given 
critical system. But a system, the inductions of 
which are but too regularly and correctly made, 
and whose results are contrary to the end proposed, 
must be a false one. The system, or means, em- 
ployed by the Readers of publishers, destroys its 
own end ; therefore such system is demonstrated to 
be false*. 

We now behold the Reader backing his mature 
go-cart into the shade of a dead wall, and covering 
his pewter face with a double mask. We shall 
leave him there awhile, as he is within hearing and 
call. 

Upon a true principle, the consequence of an in- 
sight into nature, some authors have placed the test 
of the popularity of their forth-coming works, upon 
the opinion of non-literary readers. We believe it 
was Moliere who used to recite his comedies before 
they were represented on the stage, to his house- 

. Si ! 

* Perhaps the ruin of so many great publishers, is the most 
comprehensive and conclusive syllogism. There is no deny- 
ing that. 



140 

keeper, an old woman, (a much better plan than the 
publishers adopt) that he might see the effect they 
produced upon her, and determine accordingly. 
Richardson, the elaborate interpreter of nature, 
used to read his novels to private friends, most of 
them females, expressly for their opinion ; and Hol- 
croft, a very successful writer, generally tried the 
effect of his manuscript plays upon his daughters, 
and others who were not at all liable to sacrifice the 
spirit of literature to the " profession." Authors 
of ability, who have adopted a similar criterion, 
have seldom been deceived in the result. It is the 
very thing Shakspeare would have done, had he 
not always known what the result must be. One 
of our old publishers used to give every MS. of 
impassioned, romantic, or amusing character, to be 
read by his wife. In such matters, women who 
give fair play to nature, are scarcely ever wrong. 
We may argue and reason, and beat through all 
the forms and covers ; but we must come back to 
the simple truth at last. In a sensible, unaffected 
woman of feeling, there is always some of the 
soundest philosophy in nature. This was the pub- 



141 

Usher to whom we are indebted for the eventual 
appearance of Tom Jones. On asking his wife's 
" opinion " of the work, she advised him " by no 
means to let it slip through his fingers I " An 
admirable answer, worthy of the book itself, and 
ought never to be forgotten. It had been pre- 
viously refused by all the gentlemen Readers ! 
A man of genius consults 

" The oracle within him, 
The living spirit ; not dead books, old forms, 
Not mouldering parchments, must he take to counsel/ 

Schiller *. 

The earth-clogged spirit, the publisher's Delphic 
oracle, consults nothing else — probably he has an 
excellent reason — and therefore his understanding 
sinks away from the real and essential strength of 

* Vide Carlyle's Life of Frederick Schiller ; Taylor and 
Hessey, 1825; a work of genius and true criticism. It has 
been highly appreciated in Germany, and part of it translated 
by Goethe. We find from this masterly biographer, that the 
tragedy of the Robbers, the extraordinary popularity of which 
immediately it appeared, is so well known, was refused, 
according to custom, by all the publishers, and printed at the 
author's own expense. 



142 

an author, like a parted anchor. The vial he 
grasps: the ether escapes unperceived. " The 
spirit quickeneth, but the letter killeth." Origin- 
ality to such men seems an affectation, or a pro- 
voking interlopement ; and power is either a dead 
letter, or an offence. So utterly incompetent are 
these " oughts and crosses " to the communion of 
the strong, that, barring all quotation, they are 
unable to give any feasible definition of intellectual 
power. Let any one of them be asked the ques- 
tion, and he will look thunderstruck !— but give 
him his time, and he will expose himself with an 
answer. 

We may now clearly understand how it was that 
Messrs. C. and B., among others, quce nunc ena- 
merare^ &c, foundered upon authors of mediocrity, 
instead of the hopes of men of genius being wrecked 
upon them. Their shoals have been their own dis- 
comfiture. To speak generally, and not excluding 
above three or four writers, it is a very admissible 
question, whether, during the last six years, they 
had not better have printed all they have refused, 
aud refused all they have printed? The rejected 



143 

works could not by any chance have been worse 
than the average of the fashionable novels, which 
are perfect miracles of unbroken mediocrity and 
gewgaw common- place. They are deserts, with an 
occasional bazaar full of nick-knacks, wherein the 
tact of managing folly is fully illustrated. Such 
exceptions as the Roue stand out from the others, 
like polished pillars reflecting hues of bright and 
dangerous light, amidst a Bartholomew chaos of 
ball-dresses, names of streets and titles, gilt officers, 
exquisite toys, loungers and lap-dogs, mawkish 
sentiment, immoveable narrative, bad manners, 
heartlessness, and scraps of Rcench. We are always 
sneering at the French as triflers ; yet these are the 
only works adopted, by the readers in " the fiction 
department," and strongly recommended as the 
genuine taste of the day, to the^ utter exclusion of 
all real genius. The public feeling is disgusted and 
belied. 

Can it now be asked why original power does 
not come forward ? We will show that it is like 
calling upon the spirit of Theseus to issue forth 
from the battered marble ! 



144 

The Reader, we perceive, has vacated his hiding- 
place under the dark wall, and left his scholastic- 
go-cart as a sponsor. We shall find him presently. 

It is truly extraordinary and quite ridiculous, to 
see how these " sub umbra w Aristarchian gentry 
have committed themselves " without shame or mea- 
sure," ever since publishing became a business. 
" Ancient and rooted prejudices,'" says Bishop 
Berkeley, " do often pass into principles ; and those 
propositions which once obtain the force and credit 
of a principle, are not only themselves, but likewise 
whatever is deducible from them, thought privi- 
leged from all examination. And there is no ab- 
surdity so gross, which, by their means, the mind 
of man may not be prepared to swallow *." The 
fundamental error in the present case, originates in 
an ignorant attempt to reduce genius to the laws of 
science, or the rules of art. Now there are no defi- 
nite laws or rules, but those which correspond with 
natural thought and feeling. Criticism is an art 
not to be gained by any laborious study and cul- 

* Principles of Human Knowledge. Sect. 124. 



145 

ture. It requires great abstract sensibility and 
sympathy, aided by fine imagination and well-stored 
intellect, and governed by a manly judgment. The 
passions must have fair play and sea-room : they 
carry their own terrible moral along with them. 
On the contrary, you may examine a man in optics 
or astronomy, and if he cannot answer your ques- 
tioning; that is, if he be unable to recollect his books, 
(for if he throw a new light upon the subject, or has 
made a fresh discovery, he is placed in the old pre- 
dicament immediately) he may be considered in- 
competent to pass ; but if a man write an original 
and powerful work, he must be schooled and com- 
passed in a different way. He must be tried by his 
peers. He must be weighed in Atlantaean scales, 
before it can be known how much he is wanting. 
There is no other means of finding an equipon- 
derance to determine the question. The merchant's 
warehouse is not the immortal field for which he 
has marshalled the result of years, and fortitude of 
mind. He is not to be got into a trap and looked 
at through the bars. He must be led to the foot of 
Nature's throne, and examined in the powers of 

H 



146 

humanity ! — And shall a thing of " shreds and 
patches" arrogate the judge, with a matter-of-fact 
nmn of business, (who scarcely ever hears, or even 
sees, the opposite party, either personally or in his 
work) for the umpire ; — shall one, impotent him- 
self in all good deeds — invisible as calumny — drag 
with a chain of technicalities, any individual possess- 
ing genius, before his own supreme small court; 
condemn him by a private opinion of unanswerable 
folly, and loaded with grave, false, whispered 
accusations of inability, dismiss the man, who if he 
but catch a glimpse of him, can foil him at his own 
weapons and upon his own ground and showing, 
leaving him no foundation to stand upon, and find 
it a right humorous pastime ! 

But where has he disposed himself? In what 
dark nook of Lethean welcome has he crouched ? 
" Adam, where art thou ? " No matter. 

These Readers form an express class : to know 
" the trick of his machinery " in one, is to know 
the whole. It is for this reason that a work refused 
by the first publisher to whom it is offered, almost 
invariably passes through them all. 



147 

A legitimate Reader to a publisher, must be a 
person who by nature, education, and circum- 
stances, is inevitably fitted for the office. He must 
be thorough-bred, in the inverse sense. He has 
had a partially classical schooling, and has subse- 
quently acquired an extensive verbal knowledge of 
modern literature, and the outlines of science and 
the fine arts ; all of which he has sedulously brought 
to bear upon the craft of criticism. In all his appli- 
cations and inferences, he is an unsympathetic, self- 
taught man, and having formed his mind upon a 
set system, to which he has predetermined that every 
effort of human intellect ought to agree and fall 
into the proper rule, as shown by the index for such 
a passion, idea of imagination, theory of meta- 
physics or morality, he is necessarily at fault 
with every thing above the measurement of his 
general gauge, and his own possibly additional 
small capacity. Being thus reduced, either to con- 
fess himself over-matched, or that the question at 
issue is an impropriety or an error, he of course 
decides according to his own mathematical conceit 
and self-love. From an innate meanness, and a 
H 2 



148 

circumscribed imagination and sensibility, he always 
begins his task with an antipathy, instead of leaving 
an unbiassed opening for sympathy and candour. 
He dreads an antagonism to his own insignificance 
of heart. 

When a manuscript of a really imaginative or 
impassioned character is placed before him, he sets 
to work with the sharp eye of a sparrow-hawk over 
the passive body of an entranced eagle. He finds 
therein a something which he is not used to — it is 
not his taste of the day — it is indigestible and 
intolerable. Upon the whole, he considers it ' an 
extraordinary, unusual, sort of thing,' and he 
seriously recommends his employer not to have any 
thing to do with it. That " something" — is genius. 
It is that which confounds him, because it confronts 
his own paltry individuality. The excitement of it 
— the very quality at all times wanted by the 
public — only creates doubt, antipathy, and fear: 
its originality is a proof to him that it will not 
sell ; and he advises the publisher, by all means, 
to " let it slip through his fingers ! " 

With all this perfection of knowledge, as to what 



149 

will, and what will not, " sell ; " so firmly established 
in his employer's mind, we should naturally expect 
that at least a few of these " eminent pens" would 
furnish the publisher with the exact article so much 
in requisition. Far be it from one of the sapient 
race, ever to make any such attempt. They never 
produce a work of their own, and this would be 
an isolated sign of sense, did it not include the tacit, 
yet no less preposterous opinion, that impotence in 
act induces in them a corresponding power of judg- 
ing. It is a vulgar error to suppose that a man of 
genius and strong imagination, is by a regular con- 
sequence, or penalty, without judgment*. He is 
generally the best judge of every thing in his own 
department of intellect, and often of his own works. 



* " We hear a great outcry about the want of judgment in 
men of genius. It is not a want of judgment, but an excess 
of other things. They err knowingly, and are wilfully blind. 
The understanding is out of the question. The profound 
judgment which soberer people pique themselves upon is in 
truth a want of passion and imagination. Give them an 
interest in any thing, a sudden fancy, and who so besotted as 
they ? The most mechanical people, once thrown off their 
balance, are the most extravagant and fantastical." — Hazlitt 
on Thought and Action, 



150 

Did the severe Dante employ a private tutor, or the 
elegant Petrarch ? Milton was his own critic, and 
who more perfect? Did Gray, whom the most 
elegant scholars consider perfect in his art, employ 
a polisher and a refiner? Is Bulwer a politician 
and critic, because he did not write Paul Clifford ? 
Some will adduce Scott as an exception, and pro- 
nounce him a bad politician, because he was an 
excellent novelist. But others will assert he was a 
good politician. Between the two, we divide the 
exception, though we think neither of them quite 
right. To have done with this nonsensical argu- 
ment — the writings of Swift and De Foe are a suf- 
ficient refutation, without alluding to the novels 
and political works of Godwin. But it is a yet 
more ridiculous vulgar error — too absurd in itself 
for refutation — to conceive that the absence of 
genius, and the inability to write a work, carries 
with it, in addition to a useless lumber of false 
knowledge, the superponderant power of taking a 
stand above all intellect, and dealing out conclusive 
verdicts. 

It is very extraordinary where this slippery 



151 

Daniel has ensconced himself? We thought we 
saw " the shadow of a shade," steal past a-while 
ago, " like a thief in the night." But we have 
surrounded him, and blocked up all the loop-holes, 
and he cannot escape. To continue. 

We never knew but one instance of a Reader of 
this class, or mere critic, attempting a work of his 
own. We do not, of course, allude to the " scissors 
and paste " authorship, in which the fraternity have 

abounded. Mr. could never summon courage 

to put it forth, though frequently pressed to do 
so by a staid admirer, who was a very respectable 
publisher ; being invariably employed in " abstract- 
ing redundancies of mind," as he expressed it, in 
order that his production might be " more finished 
— more terse, sir — more pure for posterity*." 



* This reminds one of the story of a certain quack prac- 
titioner in a country town, who, besides having killed some of 
the best labourers in the parish, was found guilty of certain 
peccadilloes for which he was sentenced to be hanged. Re- 
questing a draught of porter to moisten his mouth, just as 
he was being led to execution, he was observed to blow off 
the froth very carefully ; when being asked his reason for so 
doing, he sagely replied that " it was bad for the gravel." 



152 

A publisher's Reader is a human diagram, and 
considers himself perfect in all respects, and prove- 
ably so — by the rule. We think not; unless he 
can prove the parts to be everything, and the 
whole nothing. He is, at best, a picture of accu- 
rate, formal, highly-finished details, with no subject 
or foreground. He is the prototype of the soi- 
disant architect of a building, who carried about 
some bricks as a specimen. He is made up of bald 
lines and mathematical outworks, and has no sub- 
stantial concentration. These gentry are all alike. 
" They stick to the table of contents, and never 
open the volume of the mind. They are for 
having maps, not pictures of the world we live in. 
If you want to look for the situation of a particu- 
lar spot, they turn to a pasteboard globe, on which 
they fix their wandering gaze ; and because you 
cannot find the object of your search in their bald 
6 abridgments,'' tell you there is no such place, or 
that it is not worth inquiring after. But ' there are 
more things between heaven and earth than were 
ever dreamt of in their philosophy.' They cannot 
get them all in, of the size of life, and therefore 



153 

they reduce them on a graduated scale, till they 
think they can*." 

Our "chosen one" must be found. He has hidden 
himself in deep shade ; he has crept several times 
round the inner walls of the logical arena, and 
perhaps — so atomic is he — he may have got 

through some drain, or but what is that flat 

form lying prone upon the earth? We have 
discovered the craven! — he has hidden himself 
under an empty sack, which was once his employer's 
weighty purse ! 

So much for his sense of conscience. And see ! 
he now starts up, and flies across the arena, cover- 
ing himself with the publisher's name inverted on 
a half-moon shield ! 

He speaks ! We hear his voice muttering from 
a remote dark corner, " like a man with a large 
reckoning in a small room ! V He affirms that he 
is no such person — that he is not the creature we 
describe. He denies himself. He says, moreover, 
that the above character is either a conjuration 

* Hazlitt, on Reason and Imagination. 
h3 



154 

of the writer's imagination, or else that we have 
drawn our own ! 

You say it is our own. Then who wrote the 
other parts of this painful volume? for certainly 
it contains thoughts and theories, whether sound 
or idle 5 that such a character could not conceive 
even if he would dare to express. The proof of 
this will be, that such an individual will seldom 
be able to understand them. As to the character 
being imaginary — ask the publishers ? 

To resume, however ; for we have not half done. 
We have a motive in demonstrating this psycho- 
logical atomy beyond the mere exposition of pub- 
lishers' Readers. The analysis will include the 
larger part of the countless Order of Knights False- 
Oracles. And therefore, 

". Thou shalt be given to the leech's hand, 
To study causes on thy bloodless heart, 
Why men should be like geese ; " 

or like automatons : things who have the passions 
cut and dried for them. He is incorrigible in his 
mistaken studies. He pores over the gospel accord- 
ing to St. Criticism, and we, who are living men, 



155 

with all our feelings about us, are to be crippled, 
bound hand and foot, hamstrung, broken upon the 
wheel, pared down, and melted to make candles 
for him to read it by ! Upon this heretic lore he 
gazes " with fervency ; " like Antony when he 
fished up the red herring. He is like the cele- 
brated ' Anatomie Vivante,' who, we all know, 
was very fond of shutting out the sun and reading 
by the light of a candle placed behind him, and 
showing through his empty case upon the sullen 
page. Oh, men of genius, to what would he 
reduce you ! 

He does not know the distinction between art 
and nature. He habitually confounds the latter 
„ with the former ; and where he is unable to do so, 
from the determinate and powerful marking, he 
pronounces it all wrong. He would turn the tables 
upon us and reverse nature and the passions. He 
would have the sea swim upon the ships, and insists 
upon a tempest conducting itself with discretion. 
He would put snaffles and patent bits into the 
brazen jaws of the four great winds, and teach all 
things propriety. There is no excitement in him 



156 

except the vicious one of heartless mischief. He 
is a mere critic, who has no ideas beyond criticism. 
With him, all intellect is art; imagination is an 
art ; passion an art. There must, however, be 
somewhat of a misgiving in his mind, as no one of 
his brotherhood has yet ventured to put forth an 
essay upon the art of imagination, &c. Yet such 
is the foundation of his practical system. He 
knows nothing, but of c old usance 9 and second 
nature. Nature herself is " pushed out of date,^ 
and, like all her greatest children, outlawed. He 
does not know that the most certain way of pro- 
ducing an original work at the present time, is to 
be natural. He has no knowledge whatever of 
the Principles of Human Action. His philo- 
sophy is a dull antithesis to human nature, as 
mean and abortive in intellect as in feeling. He 
is a partialiy-read, but regular metaphysician, 
in the corrupt sense of the word. He does not 
know that a real metaphysician is a dangerous 
penetrator, even when trifled with by the most 
guarded proxy. He thinks himself the true 
possessor of the secret — till he feels 'done for." 



157 

Whatever he may think, this is the only thing he 
can feel. He is a practical man who can do nothing 
worth mentioning, either for himself or for any 
body else ; except as shown in the present Expo- 
sition. It is his favourite conceit, by continual 
innuendos, to riddle folks with the idea of his 
acuteness of penetration. He is a cunning clown 
turned conjuror, who knows where " a three-man 
beetle " is hid ! When somebody else has found 
it, and proved the fact, he exclaims, ' I thought so 
from the first ! ' He never fairly says at once, ' I 
can do this thing,"* or ' I see that it is so," but 
speaks fluently upon 6 acumen,' and all the wond- 
rous insights of the human mind — and listens 
through the publisher's key-hole ! What he gene- 
rally hears, we can readily imagine ; but, at best, 
it is casually said of him by his employer, after 

the language of divers periodicals, that "Mr. 

appears to have an intimate acquaintance with the 
hidden springs of our human nature, &c. ; " just as 
they would speak of any intimate Mr. Smith, who 
was nowhere to be found. But w r e are not subject 
to the same tides and cross currents as the sea, and 



158 

no book-acquirements or systematic knowledge can 
lay bare our foundations. The strong excitements 
of nature are beyond the reduction of all systems ; 
and are not its profound depths and silent work- 
ings ? He talks of ethics, physics, learning, meta- 
physics, (vain, eaves-dropping pedant!) poetry, 
history, all arts and sciences, &c, with correct 
figures of speech and grammar, and with that 
fine, racy, original air of fresh information, that so 
peculiarly distinguishes schoolmasters. After all 
his studious labours in literature, he is fully satis- 
fied in possessing " a ticket for the season : " he, 
however, struts over the f pons asinorum,' ) free in 
his own right ! He is the geometrico-moral opposite 
of Mr. Hazlitt. He knows this well enough, and is 
so profound a blockhead as to think himself on the 
right side. He considers the blind side of time as 
the best policy ; and the absorbing influence of 
long habit makes him eventually believe it the only 
wisdom. He has no self-knowledge, and wonders 
at his own portrait ! Never having viewed it 
hitherto, but through the false medium of his own 
pedantic conceit, he is utterly confounded at seeing 



159 

so many awkward conditions attached to his quali- 
ties of perfection. We know that he considers all 
loftiness of virtue and moral justice, as a mere 
abstract idea which has nothing to do with the 
matter-of-fact business of life ; yet we are also 
aware that he comforts himself with the conclusive 
notion, that, be it how it may, he will most likely 
be dead before the truth is thoroughly found out ; 
and has no objection to be denounced a mean- 
spirited pretender or a hypocrite in his grave, 
provided he can pass for a talented Pontius Pilate 
during his life. 

" Truth often swims at bottom of the world, 
Like the sea beast, the huge Leviathan, 
While dolphins play above his grained back : 
So men o'er- figure truth*." 

He has no liberality, candour, or toleration. He 
is a bigoted sectarian upon the crutches of false 
knowledge. He exults in the difficulties of the 
wrong road. He cares not who may be right, pro- 
vided his temporary interest be the gainer. Yet he 

* Drama of Joseph. 



160 

piques himself very specially upon his knowledge, 
and refers to Lord Bacon with complacency. Now 
it is the right application of knowledge (accordant 
with a definition that he does not understand, and 
can never discover) that makes intellectual power ; 
whereas he misapplies every great principle or 
theory he ever heard of, and is expert only in the 
use and ' regulation exercise ' of his own false 
rules. He is profuse of argument and erudite 
illustration, where simplicity only is true nature : 
where the question is intense and elaborate, he 
treats it as a very easy matter. The clearness of 
day-light confounds him ; his wisdom only moves 
amidst a haze of obscurities. He is an owl. Truth 
is too simple a thing for an ignoramus : his only 
chance of getting beyond the vulgar, is in dogmatic 
technicalities. He overlooks profound simplicity, 
because to him profound nonsense is the subtlest 
genius. He looks into himself, for instance, with 
sage scrutiny (like a jackdaw in spectacles peering 
through the roof of an empty house) and mistakes 
the microcosm of Aristarchian idiosyncrasy, for the 
categoric gauge of a transcendental universality ! He 



161 

stands over vacuity, and talks to himself : ( Ahem ! 
quid agis ? ' and the echo answers, ' De omnibus 
rebus, et quibusdam aliis.' This he writes down. 
He considers it a favourable answer, including every 
truth. He is St. Patrick's own philosopher, with- 
out Irish wit ; he has a Sawney's cunning, without 
Scotch ability ; a Taffy's turnip-headed under- 
standing, without Welsh honesty ; a Cockney's 
pert wrong-headedness, without English resolution. 
In short, he is without name or country, and has 
no intellectual existence, except in the idea of his 
perplexed employer ! 

Oh thou poor employer ! most Christian publisher ! 
most patient, put-upon of men ! how little dost thou 
dream that thy money-trap has a hole in its bottom 
exactly the size of the Reader's head ; that thy 
name is become a by-word for 'trash' among 
sensible men, and an echo for bankruptcy among 
the people! There is no great fault in thee; it is 
thy mar-plot and thy mischief-maker, that is the 
cause of all ! 

There is no high faith, hope, or charity, in his 
composition. He has no reverential love of truth ; 



162 

no tenacious fear of being wrong upon an im- 
portant abstract question ; he has no real feeling 
about literature ; it is his business not to have any. 
He sets up a pugnacious standard of mechanical 
moral perfection — himself the "mixed mode" 
pewter pagod of the cause — to which, thank 
heaven, he can find no genuine author bow down 
or conform. Strong only in the principle of ex- 
clusive self-love ; or every man his own idol — 
though probably, to ensure support, they take it 
in turns to be King Log, or the cock ninepin — 
the " class " stand round in their puppet station, 
and only escape knocking down so long as they 
continue invisible. What do they support and 
advocate ? Not even the bald skeleton of power ; 
not the fossil remains of grandeur — but the erect 
brazen serpent of ignorance — and the stalking- 
horse of presumption. They never fight unless 
under cover; and if once apparent and attacked 
openly, they vanish for ever. There is no reaction 
in them, except on the side of their weakness ; 
but until the storm be blown over they either lie 
perdu and brooding fresh mischief, or get up a 



163 

sort of contest in small, a little pic-nic of private 
venom and malice, to " keep their hands in;" a kind 
of Bactricomminomachia among themselves, by 
which no harm is done, or good either ; for they 
never kill one another. 

Our friend's voice is again heard in a querulous 
tone, as though he was rather dissatisfied with 
the few hints we have been giving of his charac- 
ter, literary and moral ; intellectual being out of 
the question. He proposes to harangue for a 
while— " and once again, a pot of the smallest 
ale ! " 

He affirms, that, 6 if it were not for critics, the 
literary world would be over-run with bad writers. 
All the avenues would be choked up with M par- 
venus/' and all excellence smothered by the mob. 
First, that the publishers, not having time or 
abilities to enable them to judge of the merits and 
demerits of works submitted to their consideration, 
would put forth nothing but trash, palmed upon 
them by imbecile or knavish writers ; and, in the 
second place, were it not for the periodical censors 
these base coins would " go down " with the public 



164 

as well as — and perhaps better than — those from 
the finest mint.' 

The time is advancing when Authors and men 
of Genius will no longer be subject to ignorant 
panders and charlatan Readers : 

<e And while lorn critics sit and droop, 
Why they shall sit and dine ! 
Sing merrily ! sing merrily ! 
And fill the cup of wine ! " 

His first position would be quite correct, if we 
were not over-run already. The fair-going gentry 
have choked out all excellence ; and the few good 
and honest critics are out-worded by the prepon- 
derance of those who are bad, venal, or botanically 
hyper. Supposing, however, what he says to be a 
sensible statement, it cannot apply to him, because 
he is no critic, according to a proper definition of 
the term. He is not, therefore, admissible in the 
question ; even as a necessary evil. That the pub- 
lishers would ruin themselves by printing trash, 
were it not for their Readers, is an argument that 
can only be made feasible by inversion, as innu- 
merable facts have proved. It is their Readers who 



165 

cause their ruin by recommending trash. That 
base coin does not " go down " with the public is 
also proved by the many bibliopolian bankrupt- 
cies ; and eke by the little circumstance of cargoes 
of new publications being sold for a trifle, in order 
to try if they will " go down " elsezvhere. 

The Reader now puts in a sullen remonstrance, 
tending to show that we do not give him fair play. 

Not give him fair play ? Well, then, by what 
other mode of reasoning shall we hram you — so to 
speak ? There are only three modes or forms of 
effective finishing. First, the bare syllogism, or 
triunal tomahawk ; secondly, the pictorial syllo- 
gism,, which illustrates while it proves ; and lastly, 
the syllogism satyrane, which includes the elements 
of the other two, surrounds the subject with 'che- 
vaux de frize/ gives any ground or weapons, drives 
it into the narrow corner of the dilemma, flanked 
with gaping lions; proves as much by the exception 
as the rule, or reduces it <ad absurdum/ tixing the 
chief object upon the piquet, the scorn, the terror, 
and the laughter of all beholders ! 

Now, sir, you are invited to say which of these 



166 

we shall exclusively adopt, and we will then begin 
afresh ? 

The Reader considers himself an injured man — 
a traduced critic ! He insists that < he is no man of 
straw ; and that he is not to be made a Guy 
Fawkes of in this shameful manner ! He could 
say a great deal, if he pleased. He could write an 
Exposition of his own, if he chose.'' (We have done 
it for him.) c His employer, however, is satisfied 
with his performance.'* He retires to another part 
of the arena, with all the dignity of an undertaker's 
foreman ! 

If Swift were alive he might write a companion 
to the Battle of the Books, and call it The Funeral 
of New Publications ! 

A publisher's Reader is of the worst order of all 
bad critics possible. He judges of everything by 
its faults; which is an ignorant proceeding, even if 
what he pronounces the faults really were such. 
He either does not know that there must be chaff 
in every field of corn, or else he must consider 
the corn as an illegitimate admixture. To speak 
definitely, he never looks for any thing but chaff; 



167 

and in this one instance, he certainly does succeed, 
for it is the only thing he understands. But he 
does not understand men of genius, or the public. 
He understands his employer's true interest just as 
little. He is thoroughly in the dark as to what is 
" wanted "—what will " take "—what will " sell." 
He never has been right yet upon any fair question 
of single, unaided opinion. He does not know that 
the heart of man contains all the first springs of 
action, and, consequently, that its strong and well- 
directed emanations must be felt by all who give 
fair play to the nature within them. The public 
commonly do this. He does not know that man- 
kind are excited more through this true medium, 
than by all the verbal logic that ever was generated 
upon any system whatever. He never can know 
what will produce excitement, because there is none 
in his own breast. He has not a single pulse of 
that energy, " without which, judgment is cold, 
and knowledge is inert." He strait-waistcoats 
sensation — which every body understands by in- 
stinct — and puts on his spectacles — which the 
general public do not. He sees through a false 



168 

medium : the public see through a true medium- 
By an apt association of ideas, he looks upward to 
the blank ceiling with spontaneous face, to consider 
how Elliot's " Corn Law Rhymes " came to succeed, 
now that poetry is not in the least " the taste of the 
day ? " He shakes his head at the English Opium 
Eater, and for the life of him cannot, even now, 
account for its prodigious success, except by our 
reasoning. It was felt like the first finding of an 
elixir to renew the delicious dreams of youth, and 
all its vague and portentous imaginations. Several 
young men nearly died of the seductive draught at 
the same period, referring to the book as the insti- 
gation. A Reader would never have recommended 
it for publication* — ' so wild, so extraordinary, so 
unheard-of a mass of wonders, and all told as facts ! ' 
But with a precedent, he certainly had a partial 
opinion about the subsequent " Confessions of a 
Glutton ; " being aided in his favourable decision 
by its vulgar inferiority. He would not know, if 
we suffered him to be asked (however he might 

* Taylor and Hessey did not employ a Reader. 



169 

fear it) whether this Exposition would succeed ; 
although it contains the manifest elements of popu- 
larity. He is a greater fool than the writer. A 
Reader believes himself a profoundly wise man, 
notwithstanding his misgivings are fearfully ex- 
cited upon all personal occasions. He stabs in the 
abstraction of the dark ; he is slain the moment he 
issues, or is dragged, from his hole. 

Being now driven to the last corner by fact and 
force, he takes refuge in hypocritical equity — 
washes his hands, and looks all humility* We 
hear him declaring, that 6 he never pretended to be 
infallible ; he cannot be responsible for every thing 
that happens — he only judges for his employers to 
the best of his ability.'' And bad, indeed, have 
they found his best. But away with this cant ; his 
grand climacteric is a u Commission of Lunacy " 
against Genius, he finds it so very unlike himself. 

On night-black vans, Fate hovers o'er their heads, 
And human indignation arm'd at point, 
Impatient stands, waiting the sign from Jove ! 

. — Ye venomous powers 

Of shadowy hell, where crouch ye ? View your deeds 
Ye embodied curses of the mighty dead ; 



170 

Mark the sad ruin of imperial worth, 
And its high progeny, like sunset, ended * ! 

Of his private character, as distinguished from 
his secret character — which is no secret henceforth — 
a publisher's Reader both sneaks and struts through 
the world. He puffs forth inflated nothings, and 
lords it dogmatically over the little, always seeking 
such piddling, gin-and-bitter coteries as he can 
bear down and impress with an idea of his know- 
ledge, acute judgment, and literary importance. 
In the society of capable men, over their brandy 
punch, he is still as a mouse. If, in desperation or 
sheer impudence, he break out, the lion's skin 
drops from his shoulders in a moment, and he 
stands confessed ! But his sexagenary aunt holds 
him a marvellous converser ; though his wife knows 
him for a very dull man ; and the publisher desig- 
nates him — his " literary friend ! " In the streets 
you would take him for a conceited master of a 
day-school, or an insidious private tutor, who has 
a plot in the family ; a methodist parson, learned in 

* Paraphrased from the Choephorae of iEschylus. 



171 

" unknown tongues," who has just turned informer, 
or a peripatetic undertaker seeking for prey; a 
cadaverous, ill-tempered, surgeon-apothecary, re- 
turning from a protracted labour ; or a self-suffi- 
cient coal merchant, who has been thrice bankrupt. 
His face is never without a sinister and peculiarly 
uncomfortable expression (it will have a very pecu- 
liar uncomfortable expression when he next meets 
his employer, after the appearance of this Exposi- 
tion !) and he always looks as if he expected to be 
apprehended. His greatest fear is, that an author 
should know where he lives. Now, if such a man, 
though rarely seen abroad, and never " at home," be 
not one of those we have mentioned, we then feel as- 
sured he really can be nothing less than a publisher's 
Reader ! If, however, he chance to pass an author 
in the streets, on either side of the way, he takes 
an oblique glance at him, with the felonious look of 
a rat ; but if he meet him accidentally in a book- 
seller's shop, at close quarters, and recognise him 
for a soldier of the " true faith," he steals the same 
oblique glance, with the same expression, added to 
that of conscious detection ! No sooner is the 
\2 



172 

injured Christian gone, than the skulking Saracen 
fetches his breath, and drawing himself up, feels 
like the justified General Sir Burke, of all-rising 
authors ! 

But let us give him " line," and follow him 
round town for a while. 

He starts off at long strides, and goes down the 
Thames Tunnel, there to read a MS. sent him by 
his employer ; because he is informed it is " a tale 
of the sea," and he likes to be surrounded with 
profound associations. He goes to the top of the 
Colosseum, to see the panorama of London, and 
there study the yeasting passions of the vast metro- 
polis. He visits the Diorama, and many other ex- 
hibitions, in the course of a single morning ; not for 
the pleasure or improvement, or the chance of it ; 
but merely to gain material for new impertinences 
— a supply of bilge water for his pump. He goes 
to a picture gallery, and gives himself airs before 
the old masters. He considers himself to have an 
intimate acquaintance with the best productions of 
modern art ; and in order to prove it, he recapitu- 
lates what every body says of them, garnished with 



173 

his own queries. He writes long criticisms upon 
all kinds of popular subjects, and by balancing the 
two halves of almost every sentence ; that is, un- 
saying or neutralising, what he has just said ; con- 
trives to get paid for doing nothing- Ifs and buts, 
are in fact his sheet and best-bower anchors ; and 
where he can find no good holding ground for 
them, his bark is dragged away from Shuffle-port, 
and he is soon at sea, tossing about like an old shoe 
in the Baltic. He goes to the Theatres, because 
there is nothing worth seeing at them ; and admires 
the devils ! He goes to hear the German Opera, 
because he understands a few words of German ; 
and comes away with half a dozen more added to 
his stock. He goes to the Italian Opera, because 
he has received a "clapper's order ;" and falls 
asleep. (Unprincipled fellow !) He goes to see the 
Hindoo Temple, at Exeter Hall, and pronounces 
it a splendid piece of work. So much for the 
effect of gas upon his benighted perceptions. He 
goes to the Zoological Gardens, that he may mix 
with ladies and gentlemen, and compose a sonnet 
to the monkeys. He gets an invitation to 's 



174 

rjuts, and " makes hay while the sun shines'' — at 
the supper table. He goes to a Fancy Fair— -free 
every where by virtue of " puff" — that he may be 
able to say " when I was conversing with Lady 
Twaddle the other morning," &c. He does not 
understand Shakspeare, and therefore goes to take 
a lesson from the Comic Sculpture, in Regent 
Street. He finds the dead-and-alive, fishy face of 
Falstaff, exactly according with the bard's idea* ! 
He goes to the Adelaide Gallery, expressly to see 
the mouse descend in a diving-bell; and departs 
before the " combustion of steel" and the firing of 
the steam-gun. He goes to inspect the Hydro- 
oxygen Microscope, and feeling uncomfortable at 
seeing a flea magnified 800,000 times (his chief 
business being to diminish nature) says nothing 
about it. As he looks at it, he fears his own hour 



* Since writing the above, we have been informed that 
the Sculptor is not yet out of his teens. If so, he is un- 
doubtedly a very clever young man, though ill-advised, or 
more probably, wilful. His figure of Hercules shows this, 
but at the same time does him great credit. Bardolph is 
characteristic; his nose— easily mistaken— is a "true bill/* 
and the rogue's eye, excellent. 



175 

is come. This is true ; not that he will be bitten 
and eaten, but comprehensively exposed. If he 
does venture to praise the said exhibition, it is 
solely on account of those destructive reptiles that 
we see pursuing their remorseless occupations. He 
prefers the " Industrious Fleas." 

The publishers, who are not only as fair-dealing 
and respectable a class of merchants as any that exist, 
and certainly (always excepting the mean, pusillani- 
mous ; and the shuffling successor of ) 

according to our own personal experience, the 
most generous and honourable of all dealers ; have 
hitherto borne the entire odium of such disastrous 
results to authors, as the above system has mainly 
induced ; whereas - - - but stay — come back awhile, 
" an't please ye" my friends ; we have not quite 
done with ye. Like that habitually courteous dis- 
penser of criminal laws, who having forgotten upon 
a certain occasion to pass sentence of death upon 
some condemned culprits, when informed of his 
omission, said, " Have I ? — I'm sure I beg their 
pardons — call them back, directly ;" even so we 
should feel extremely sorry to have omitted show- 



176 

ing, how the folly of a Reader's u opinion " often 
strongly partakes of knavery ! 

The panting Reader now declares that we intend 
to ruin him, and all his fraternity ! We can have 
brought him back headlong, for nothing else ! He 
accuses us of resembling Count Charolois, u who 
shot at slaters, merely to enjoy the barbarous fun of 
seeing them tumble from the tops of the houses *." 

The latter piece of wickedness is exactly their 
own, as commonly manifested towards young 
authors, whether sparrows or sky-larks ; and as to 
ruining these eminent pens, we certainly do pro- 
pose reducing them, through the sharp application 
of rational insight, to the same unfortunate pre- 
dicament in which they have placed their employers 
by falsehood and folly. 

To proceed with this very cruel case. 

Now, whether the said Reader for any first-rate 
publisher, is allowed a stated salary annually, or 
that he receive two or three guineas (generally one 
guinea per vol.) for each work he operates upon, 

* Lacretelle, Hist, de la France, torn. ii. 



177 

the sum total produces him a sufficient income for 
the ordinary comforts and pleasures of life, so long 
as he pursues the " even tenour" of his erroneous 
way. If he recommend a work to the publisher 
which does not sell, sufficiently at least to cover all 
expenses, he fears that his doing so will soon mar 
his " commission," and with it, his own interest. He 
is wrong, even here ; for scarcely any thing will shake 
a publisher in his opinion of his Reader's compe- 
tency. If it were otherwise, scarcely one of them 
would retain his situation a second season. How 
few books, out of the thousands that have ap- 
peared , have met with even the most temporary 
success ? But all the fault is laid upon the luck- 
less Authors— their muse of old, has always been 
the " unfortunate Old Bailey:" — nay, when a work 
refused by one publisher, is eventually brought 
out by another, and proves eminently successful, 
the Reader of the former assures his employer 
that c it is very materially altered since he read it ; 
and no longer, in fact — as he may say — ahem ! — 
the same thing ! ' The publisher has never read 
a page of the book, and is therefore obliged to lay 
i3 



178 

the untoward result upon the Author's emenda- 
tions, the public caprice, or his own ill luck. 
Perhaps the two agree in the sage notion that suc- 
cess is always a " toss up," and entirely a matter 
of chance. But to return. The Reader having 
often enough already, " in all conscience/' most un- 
wittingly recommended works that did not succeed, 
is proportionately afraid of any fresh occurrence of 
a more ruinous nature ; and when he meets with 
a production of genius, the essential quality of 
which, is that of making a strong effect upon the 
public mind, he is terrified at the contemplation. 
We are here admitting that he perceives consi- 
derable merit in it, and a certain power of some 
kind, though he does not understand it : still, his 
judgment, being formed upon such sieve or thim- 
ble-gauging principles as we have explained, he 
knows not on which side the blow may fall ; whe- 
ther on the right side of public excitement, or the 
wrong ; which latter he takes for granted will 
rebound fatally upon the publisher's interest. 
This again, is absurd reasoning ; except the book 
be' inflammatory, scurrilous, violent in theology, 



179 

politics, &e. ; and is both erroneous and ignorantly 
weak, as applied to works of genius, simply as 
such. In this ridiculous dilemma, the Reader de- 
termines at all events to be upon the safe side ; and 
condemns the production accordingly. In fact, he 
has no opinion but a certainty. Mediocrity can 
do no harm, and may sell. Yet even in giving 
this no-opinion, he instinctively contrives it so as 
to leave himself a loop-hole, in case of — accidents. 
He begins with praising the work under considera- 
tion, sufficiently to determine the publisher's mind 
upon accepting it— and then drops in a gentle but, 
&c. If the work sell pretty fairly, he rubs his 
hands, and with a sagacious wink, remarks ; I said 
so — I saw it would do {' If it does not sell at all, 
he says with a wise, long face, \ Ah, I told you I 
was rather afraid of it !\ In fine, the Author and 
the Publisher are injured and fooled; the Public 
are defrauded and fooled ; and the Reader is both 
fool and knave — the fool always predominant. 

Have we dissected and dismissed — re-seized and 
finally analysed and exposed this creature suffi- 
ciently ? We think so ; but have we convicted him 



180 

to himself? have we made him confess to his own 
conscience ? Not to mention his folly, does he know 
what a rogue he is ? This is doubtful ; for he is one 
of those dastard sinners who dare not look their own 
motives in the face; and upon this account, for- 
sooth, would " cheat himself against his broadest 
convictions, into a kind of accidental innocence — 
deliver himself from a piece of conscious roguery, 
because his name is not Timothy. These people 
affect extreme indignation at the scandalous opi- 
nion of the world, if, in appreciating their conduct, 
it makes some light error in particulars, though it 
may be perfectly just in its general spirit and 
bearing. Fame avers that Mr. Shuffle cheated the 
other night at cards, to the amount of thirteen 
shillings and sixpence — and that therefore he is a 
knave : against which decision he contends that the 
sum was only twelve shillings — and that therefore 
he is an honest man* !-•" 

As a singular proof of the rooted station which 
a Reader maintains in opposition to all fact, expe- 

* Ayton's Essays and Sketches. 



181 

rience, and reason, over the Publisher, upon whose 
weakness he stands bolt upright, like a wooden ora- 
cle, or a self-acting verbal pump ; we declare that 
nearly all the leading arguments contained in the 
foregoing pages, were once used personally to a 
highly respectable publisher, and their truth admit- 
ted by him, even while he suffered himself to be en- 
tirely over-ruled by the purblind's knavish opinion, 
against which he had a strange misgiving ! In 
conclusion, we affirmed our belief, that if Paul 
Clifford and Eugene Aram — the two most suc- 
cessful, and perhaps the finest novels of the present 
day — had been offered as the first production of 
an unknown writer, scarcely any of the publishers 

would have accepted them ? Mr. — " did not 

know that they would.' 1 We certainly were not 
prepared for that admission ! The same gentleman, 
intending to pay his Reader's power of judging a 
conclusive compliment, and to prove his compe- 
tency, said that " he was not a man to be led away 

by his feelings!" Mr. never spoke a truer 

word ; for natural sensibility would generally lead 
a man away from wrong judgments in most cases 



182 

affecting the best passions of humanity. It was a 
matter-of-fact misapplication of the words " led 
away ;" the real force of which only applies to 
personal or private matters, and not to abstract 
judgments, except with enthusiasts. But all this 
is High Dutch, with a practical prejudice in oppo- 
sition. 

Such arguments as we have here laid before the 
Public, we have used in several quarters where 
they might have been understood advantageously, 
as we think, to the hearers. We did not, how- 
ever, insist upon their validity so much as at pre- 
sent ; not having to learn " at this time of day," 
that prejudice is stronger than reason ; and that its 
strength is in proportion to the weakness of the indi- 
vidual, and the absence of a knowledge of element- 
ary principles. In all his promiscuous thoughts 
upon literature, a publisher's mind is usually 
modelled exactly after that of his presumptuous 
jackal. 

The present work may claim the very ungainly 
honour of first introducing to the world — a 
Publisher's Reader ! In that occult office, hitherto 



183 

hermetically sealed, and hidden from all eyes, is 
centred the chief barrier and false medium, ex- 
cluding rising authors from the Public ; and not 
^infrequently from Posterity, for sickness and death 
often intervene before the unfortunate devotee can 
eventually struggle through, so as to obtain the 
least notice. We shall conclude our lecture upon 
this subject, by remarking, that there is no instance 
upon record of a mere critic ever having made a 
stand when once attacked by a man of ordinary 
capability. " He dies, and makes no sign l v 

Thus have I seen— before the storm began— 
A froward-spoken landsman urging oft 
The mariners to sail ; whose idle voice, 
Soon as the tempest thunder'd out, fell mute ; 
And hidden 'neath his cloak he meanly lay, 
While the crew trampled o'er him*. 

He has never been found a " master of his 
fence ;" or one that even knew his own business — 
that of finding fault. He has always mistaken the 
greatest merits for the faults. He was a " senior 
wrangler" in words, whom ideas crushed in a mo- 

* Trans, from Sophocles. Ajax, the Scourge-bearer. 



184 

meat. He was a moral-monger, who had set up 
against humanity. He was a mental coward. He 
has invariably been seen to shrink back without 
making even his despairing blow, whenever he felt 
the grip of a senior wrestler upon him — and ever 
after begged to be excused. He has gradually 
fallen into the opposite vein, and sided with 
general opinion, in a spaniel-like praise of any de- 
monstrator who knew how to " place truth upon 
the throne, and falsehood in the pillory," Consi- 
dering his utter imbecility, we have, perhaps, been 
induced to deal too heavily with him, and although 
a great general benefit will result from his decom- 
position, we have been too slow in perceiving his 
utter prostration — and apologise. 



V. 



The British Drama and Theatres. — We 
now come to the Drama and Theatres, the high 
state of which has hitherto been one of the chief 
prides of all civilised nations. 



185 

With some barbaric people, centuries ago ; when 
the strong spirit of the early March of Intellect, at 
what we modestly consider the rude time of day- 
break, was heralded by little else than the sound 
of the wood-pipe, accompanied with some primi- 
tive drum or conch-shell horn, instead of the pom- 
pous flourish of a full band that now ostentatiously 
proclaims its advance ; Dramatic Power, with a 
free stage for its high personations, was patronised 
by the government as a national advantage, a 
mighty and far-spreading medium of influencing 
all ranks, to the best ends of wisdom, and of 
private and patriotic virtue. iEschylus and So- 
phocles had a fair field of action ; and were not 
more admired as poets, than reverenced as moral- 
ists and teachers, by the half-naked groups that 
anxiously thronged to hear their plavs recited * ; 
while with the all-enlightened English, who now 
consider themselves van-ward in the said march , 



* A noisy disapprobation being manifested at some pas- 
sage in one of the tragedies of Euripides, he came forward 
and informed the audience, that it was his business to givt 
them instructions ; not to receive theirs. 



186 

not only does the government give no determinate 
and sustaining encouragement to dramatic genius 
and art ; but, on the contrary, has circumscribed 
their best efforts, by the establishment of a close 
capitolian monopoly, the effects of which have 
ruined the Drama, and the monopolists themselves. 
In our times art has superseded nature, and 
theatrical representations have degenerated to mere 
amusements at the best. The voice of " the lofty 
grave tragedians" is heard no more; the cutting 
satire and deep moral tendency of true comedy, is 
banished from the stage. In their place we have 
beasts and devils ! — translations from French farces 
and vaudevilles, unmeaning spectacles, music and 
dancing, while the national performers on half-pay, 
are kicked out from the Patent Theatres to make 
room for high-salaried Italians, or a whole German 
company ! The public are insulted, disgusted, and 
exasperated ; and after a little bluster and a few 
exclamations, put up with it very quietly. Oh 
Apathy, thou first cousin to Ass, and mother of 
Injustice, are we never to see thee rise and shake 
off thy bonds, without some personal stimulus, some 



187 

arrow directed to thy face, or some bull-headed pre- 
judice? Shall we never see thy lethargic spirit act 
with resolute consistency to its boasted power ? 

A philosophic writer has taken this subtle view 
of the theatre. 

" It may be looked on as one of the most im- 
portant, if not the chief safety valve in the great 
engine of municipal society, through which the 
vague wishes, romantic fancies, and restless activity 
of mankind, are evaporated, and which are unable 
to be totally suppressed by all the trammels that 
the laws of civilisation can impose." 

Now this view proves, we think, that the theatres, 
if properly conducted, are of far deeper importance 
than mere places of amusement. At present, the 
stage addresses itself only to the gross senses, and 
leaves the great mass of its unintellectual fre- 
quenters to rid themselves how they can, of an 
excitement produced without any qualifying moral, 
or one generous feeling or principle which might 
unconsciously influence their future conduct. The 
senses are called into a feverish action without any 
definite object or scenic result, and the individuals 



188 

go away to find an actual one in sensuality or 
mischief. The imagination once strongly excited, 
and then disappointed, or left to itself, almost 
always leads to some practical excess. 

The most munificent support, however, of any 
Government to the Theatres, cannot induce a 
highly flourishing period of dramatic power, if the 
possessors of such power are excluded by the false 
medium of incompetent judges. The Patent The- 
atres have always had — their Readers ! — the Drama 
in general, its immaculate Censor ! These are of the 
same genus as those we have just finished, though 
differing in grade, and claiming indeed the supe- 
rior rank; first, because their names are possible 
to be known ; and secondly, because, while very 
few of the others have ever tried the one day^s ice 
with a substantive work of any kind, the former 
have usually indulged the anxious public with their 
own highly self-approved, heavy maudlins, or some 
very gross mirth. Every man usually forms his stan- 
dard of excellence for others by his own ; hence the 
trash and vulgar nonsense these Readers and Censors 
have accepted for representation ; requiring only, in 



189 

the spirit of a rake reformed to a hypocrite*, that it 
should be free from the low ribaldry which abounds 
in their own productions. These are the individual 
smoke-jacks who, when fixed "in office," become 
exclusives of all genuine power ; who choke out 
wit, sully reputation, and set up for purists ! — all 
the while laughing in secret at the misfortunes of 
Disappointed Authors, and the " infinite gulli- 
bility'" of the town ! 

We know very well what the system has been ; 
and John Bull, or John Ox, as he has been aptly 
called, the phlegmatic and much-enduring, has 
occasionally been told in sufficiently plain terms ; 
but he is never to be excited to action, unless a 
series of glaring facts be stated in a full and organ- 
ised form, and insisted upon continually. He is 
like a one-oxed omnibus, licensed to carry as many 
as possible. Nothing but daily hunger and the 
goad, can make him thoroughly comprehend his 
degraded condition. 

* We need not point this moral with the name ! 



190 

We shall now speak of the theatres, chiefly as 
they have been conducted during the last season. 

As places for the exhibition of true dramatic 
genius — with reference to the introduction of " fresh 
men and strong 1 *' — they have long been ruined : 
and even as regards the representation of the old 
gigantic stock, both the great houses have long 
been at their last faint struggle. We can easily 
explain how all this has occurred. 

No elaborate analysis of mind and character will 
be requisite in the present case, as we have already- 
stated, that the critic employed by the patent 
theatres is of the same genus as those of the pub- 
lishers. We have only to prove their affinity by 
citing their actions, and the results ; and by show- 
ing the manner in which they have brought their 
craft to bear upon the various subjects and indivi- 
duals submitted to the scales and callipers of their 
misapplied office, we shall clearly see that the ruin 
of their employers, and — which is a far more 
serious charge—of the National Drama, was only 
a necessary consequence. 



191 

The phrase of " dancing attendance," is well 
understood by every indignant dramatic writer. 
When men of capability in this important depart- 
ment of literature, are compelled to pass through a 
humiliating ordeal of conflicting local interests, 
wrong judgments, and impudent requisitions of 
alteration in their productions; according to opi- 
nions, not founded upon any true and stable prin- 
ciples of criticism, but upon the caprice, intolerance, 
or peculiar idiosyncrasy of the individual; such 
writers have seldom been surprised at the negative 
success of their mutilated works, or at the entire 
failure of their labours. But when they have sub- 
sequently reflected upon the time wasted in seeking 
the favourable intercession of some mechanical 
histrionic puppet-star ; of the ruinous delay pre- 
vious to the examination of the Reader, and all 
the contingencies attending the consideration of the 
private acting committee, the manager's humour, 
and finally, the cant, ignorance, and presumption 
of the Licenser, it has become evident that the time 
employed, and the " wear and tear" of the mind 
and constitution in producing the work ; probably 



192 

under every disadvantage of worldly circumstances; 
is literally a trifle compared with that of getting it 
brought out upon the stage, in any form ; and they 
have turned their backs upon the pursuit with a 
disgust, that was wdl for those in whom it lasted — 
for ever, 

" What promises and subterfuges, delays, apo- 
logies, and manoeuvres practised on one side, 
crowd upon our conception. What solicitude and 
suspense, letters, visits, and long anxious attend- 
ance in cold ante-rooms, appeal to one's pity on the 
other." 

With such examples then, palpably before them, 
which being thoroughly and minutely compre- 
hended, are, to the deep studier of nature, almost 
the same as personal experience ; was it likely that 
those men, spread here and there over the country, 
in we know not what way of life, but who possess 
high dramatic genius, would deign to subject them- 
selves to any attempt certain to be attended with 
every humiliation and delay, if not insult and dis- 
appointment ? They do not look upon a tragedy 
as a theatrical play — a scenic illusion in the 



193 

iS heavy line of business " — a scholastic effort, or 
literary piece of work ; but as the terrible and 
practical excitement of human passions in good 
and evil— of the deepest yearning of the affections 
— the throes of the racked heart — and the har- 
rowing up of our most hidden impulses of being. 
They consider tragedy as bearing the same relation 
to the great elements of active physical nature, 
that an Epic does to the monument of Fate; the 
one stands above the coil of human circumstance, 
sufficient of power and fortitude in the loftiness of 
its abstraction ; and perhaps considering itself the 
only reality ; the other rises as with the waters and 
the winds — the devoted heart is all that " does and 
suffers" — it is borne upon the swelling torrent with 
prophetic agony and will — and rolls onward with 
sounding desolation to its inevitable doom ! Are 
these the men to " dance attendance ?" 

The histrionic motto of "veluti in speculum," 
is now of rather a portentous import, for little else 
than wild diabolisms and Pandemonian spectacles, 
are ever exhibited there, as novelties. So much 
for a highly flattering compliment to the religious 

K 



194 

public ; but with respect to authors, it would be 
much more consistent if the inscription placed by 
Dante over the gates of hell, " Lasciate ogni 
speranza, &c." was adopted for a warning over the 
entrances of both the patent theatres. 

" Eat not the heart !" said Pythagoras ; which 
applied to modern times, might be translated, 
6 Do not become a tragic author. ' For why 
should a man die prematurely from the revulsion, 
the recoiling flame of his impassioned energies, 
upon himself, excited in the noblest cause, and in 
the result only wasting, parching up, and devouring 
his existence ? Why should a man sacrifice him- 
self to posterity upon a mental rack ? He would 
gladly devote the main efforts and purpose of his 
life, without the reward of wealth; but he cer- 
tainly requires the means to live. That many men 
of dramatic capability — though not, we sincerely 
hope and believe, the highest — have offered pro- 
ductions during the last ten or twenty years, which 
would have been most acceptable to the public, 
and advantageous to the theatrical interest, who 
can doubt that is aware of the immense number 



195 

of pieces annually offered — neglected — though not 
often returned ? 

The property of Dramatic authors is not only 
without any legal protection from universal appro- 
priation* : it is equally open to private robbery. 
By what right, except the very honest plea of 
"nine points of the law;" did a certain theatrical 

Reader sell to Mr. P C all the MSS. 

that " remained" upon his hands, accumulated 
during the long exercise of his fertile and furtive 
office? The long detention of manuscripts has 
served two purposes in addition to this last-f*. It 
has prevented many an author of ability from 
coming forward ; and after his melancholy death, 
has given the Reader a safe opportunity of appro- 
priating the credit of his piece to himself, as well as 
the emolument. If these theatrical pirates do not 
adopt an entire play, they have an unsunned mine 

* This injustice will soon be actionable. Dramatic writers 
are deeply indebted to Mr. Bulwer. 

f Mrs. Inchbald sent a Comedy to Colman, who kept it 
three years without taking the least notice of it. — Biographia 
Dramatica. Had she died in the meantime, there would, 
at least, have been some valuable " pickings I" 

k2 



196 

to pick and choose from ; and the best scenes being 
stolen, and then cashiered from the original work — 
" mum's the word ! " 

" The monopolists when interrogated some time 
ago on the subject before the Chancellor, could 
only adduce eight successful accessions to our Dra- 
matic stock, in a period of twenty-eight years! 
Mark the conclusion !— the acknowledged geniuses 
of the age'' (even with their reputation to back 
them) " disdain to kick their heels in theatrical 
ante-chambers, subjected to the capricious opinions 
of obscure persons of unproved judgment. Here, 
Sir, let us ponder — only eight stock pieces in 
twenty-eight years, while six hundred have been 
during the same time annually rejected — making 
in all, sixteen thousand eight hundred ! What a 
reflection to the country ! Only eight out of six- 
teen thousand eight hundred ! Who were the 
Readers ? and who were the writers of so prodigious 
a heap of matter — inferior to the trash which 
managers habitually set before us* ? " 

* The above passage is extracted from a pamphlet entitled 
* Epistolary Remonstrance to Thomas Morton, Esq., Pro- 



197 

The last sentence is perfect, and carries with it 
its own conclusive comment. Worse trash than 
we have had, was not possible to have been written ; 
and even the calculation of chances, is forcibly 
opposed to the idea of so vast a concourse of 
authors not having produced any thing better. 
By those pieces continually selected for the delight 
and improvement of the nation, we may accurately 
ascertain the critical judgment of the Readers. 

It has already been inferred, that these sage gentry 
have no idea whatever of a practical passion being 
implicated with what they look upon as an entire 
matter of business ; far less that the author might 
make it a personal question. But our surprise is. 



fessed Critic and Reader of Drury Lane." We have no 
acquaintance whatever with the author ; but however he may 
have been "led away" by natural feelings of indignation, 
into personalities which are but too offensive pictures, because 
too true, we are fully aware of the general validity of all his 
assertions, and beg to call the attention of the public to his 
statements. Messrs. Morton and Bishop will not find it so 
easy a matter to evade the question by calling him a disap- 
pointed author ; our only surprise at reading his pamphlet, 
is to find that he has omitted the important name of Mr. 
Bunn. 



198 

that none of the capable men whom we are per- 
suaded have frequently offered their productions 
during the above period of years, have been so exas- 
perated at the indignities they have received, as to 
castigate the chiefs of the dwarf junto, and set their 
heels upon them in the public way ; nay, that with 
ruined prospects and a starving family before 
them, they have not seized the incendiary's torch, 
and reduced the huge pile where their paltry op- 
pressors reigned, to smouldering ashes — even like 
their own hopes and fortunes. We repeat, that 
the bare mention of such a thing is placed so far 
beyond their comprehension, that they would 
" lump together" both cause and effect, and pro- 
nounce it sheer lunacy, or something impossible 
ever to he done ; yet the same profound critics of 
tragic works w T ould read, over a cup of coffee, the 
account of a fanatic, with no definite or personal 
impulse, destroying York Minster, and fancy they 
. understood the principle thoroughly, because they 
felt no difficulty in believing the fact. ' But then, 
this man was not a disappointed author — he did 
not write poetry — and no man who does, write 



193 

poetry, can ever think of doing us any thing 
beyond verbal mischief/ 

Our idea of a tragic writer, exasperated by 
wrongs and want, is not quite so harmless ; we 
are glad, however, of their escape. To be " put 
down" permanently \ other weapons must be em- 
ployed ; and they will find that words, in the right 
place, are quite sufficient. 

Let us call to mind the insulting behaviour of 
the Committee towards Mr. Kean previous to his 
debut. They saw nothing in him but what was 
objectionable and dangerous ! Let us recollect that 
these and other " officials," have always been 
wrong whenever a great occasion offered ; or will 
they seek refuge from our driving home the charge 
of ignorance, in the confession and plea of infamous 
knavery ? The system has come down to us entire, 
without once missing a chance of error, and 
still flourishes at our Patent Theatres in all 
its pristine perversity. The lessee of Drury, we 
would merely say, was a very weak gentleman, who 
assumed no voice in the management of his hobby. 
His superior wealth has been the only thing that 



200 

prevented his sharing the fate of his bankrupt 
predecessors. We are told that authors do not 
now meet with the same neglect and insult as 
formerly. Possibly so ; but the reform comes too 
late — especially as they know that the ignorance con- 
tinues. Among various other instances, how came 
Drury Lane to reject the offer of the " Hunchback/ 1 
which has been so successful at the other house ? 
And how came Mr. Morton to write " an elaborate 
critique' 1 to the author, " full of kindness," &c, 
which the latter swallowed without seeing the 
drift? 

Well may the theatrical critic in the Athenaeum*, 
a writer of judgment and great fairness, call it 
" the most imbecile management under which it 
has ever been in our time the lot of a national 
theatre \,ofall? Well may he have " complained 
over and over again of the poorness of the pieces 
produced ; of the painful ignorance displayed in 
the manner of getting them up ; of the system of 



See his report of criticisms upon all the new pieces pro- 
duced at Drury Lane during the last season. No. 27 L 



201 

puffing and quackery, which makes their bills the 
laughing-stock of the town; and of the bad English 
in which those puffs are put forth ! " &c. They 
are written by the theatrical Reader ! 

Well might the talented and unappreciated 
Henderson, (who was the first that appreciated 
Mrs. Siddons, and when she was in obscurity) say 
long since, 

" Our English stage, which was at first design'd 
To raise the genius and improve the mind, 
To expose the various follies of the town, 
Seems now contented to expose its own /" 

The Kemble management of the other house 
was conducted upon no better principles. Of this 
fact we shall give a few instances shortly, before 
we come to speak of its recent condition under the 
manipulations of Laporte, who took up the bear- 
Garden system with a corresponding spirit, and 
worked it to the full extent, without any cant or 
false modesty whatever. 

To explain the cause of the arduous efforts 
which have always been found necessary to be 
employed by a new Composer, in order to get out 

k3 



202 

a piece at one of the great theatres, and the pre- 

cariousness of his success in any case, we shall first 

adduce the simple fact of a musical Director's 

private interests, prejudices, and liability to the 

grossest corruption. We must not, however, omit 

his probable ignorance with regard to all novelties, 

seconded by that of the other managerial influences. 

If a new opera is accepted, and meets with success, 

it most probably supersedes the one. which the 

director has in hand, either of his own composition, 

or an adaptation from some foreign composer. Its 

fate is, therefore, pretty certain. If the above be 

not the case, then it acts in the same way upon 

some other popular composer, who, if he be not 

already in the interest of the said director, takes 

the best means of speedily becoming so ; and the 

new composer fares just the same. If various 

other causes and influences induce the manager to 

determine upon bringing it out, the previous jWg*- 

matic alterations insisted upon by the Director, and 

a collision with the leader, conductor, and double 

basses in the orchestra, without " packing the 

house," can easily ensure its utter failure. c Let him 



203 

have his way,' quoth the Director ; c he will find 
the consequences, as I foresee.'' And the manager 
has all the expense of getting it up (publishing' 
it *) to no purpose, because he did not listen to the 
scientific advice of his Musical Director ! 

The peculiar judgment shown by musical di- 
rectors in the manner of bringing out the works of 
foreign composers, is characteristic of their ignorance 
and presumptuous folly. The Director begins by 
mutilating the fine bass and barritone parts, to suit 
the singers who happen to be on the establishment : 
he adulterates them for tenors, or cuts them out 
altogether; as also the contraltos. The " con- 
certed pieces '' are thus destroyed in their original 
effect, — but never mind : he works them up after 
his own fashion, with, perhaps, an additional bas- 
soon in the orchestra. The best of these pieces, 
and consequently the finest scenes, he is probably 
obliged to omit. The opera, being now rendered 
quite ineffective, is brought out with splendid 

* Quaere : have not many of the Readers for the publishers 
a secret influence with certain newspapers and inferior peri- 
odicals, so as to aid the accomplishment of their own 
predictions ? 



204 

dresses, decorations, scenery, &c, at an immense 
expense, and, of course, fails ! This was the case 
with I] Turco in Italia; Bishop's versions of 
Spohr, &c, and even with Weber's Preciosa # . The 
shameless director then takes a pinch of snuff under 
the manager's nose, and says, — 6 Well, you see 
foreign operas don't succeed — they don't go down 
with the public ! — I suppose we must try them 
with one of our own again ? ' 

Our recollection of the first introduction of 
Weber's Oberon is too painful to dwell upon. It 
was brought out at Covent Garden, and he presided 
himself. The influence of his many enemies was 
so strong, that the opera was performed almost to 
empty benches. This was a conclusive blow ; and 
he died three days afterwards, not from the climate, 
but from the cabal, at the head of which, we are 
sorry to say, was * * ■*, himself a man of genius! 
Was it worth while, sir, to barter your good fame 
for an unworthy jealousy, or a paltry interest, and 
have this whispered in the ear of posterity ? 

* La Nozze di Figaro was recently brought out, and hissed 
on account of the impudent interpolations. What have 
Mr. Bishop's songs to do with Mozart's opera ? 



205 

Admitting the few exceptions that may exist, 
the sons of harmony are opponent hedgehogs to 
each other; piggish, splenetic, obstinate, and ma- 
licious ; weak-minded, and jealous of every ap- 
proach. The system is, however, approaching its 
end ; but, rooted overhead and ears in the stubbles 
and blackthorns of conservative ill-will, they, like 
many of their betters, are stupidly bent upon having 
their 6 better half trampled to dust in the old rut. 

The reason why many fine pieces of music, and 
many beautiful songs, are condemned to neglect, is 
because the national taste is not yet sufficiently good 
to enable us to judge for ourselves; unknown com- 
posers are therefore placed at the mercy of all sorts 
of critics, who can often destroy their chance by 
advertisements, with one dash of the pen ; and to 
get a song known to the public, through the me- 
dium of a popular singer, it is requisite to be able 
to meet the demand of the said popular singer; 
which is from fifteen to five and twenty pounds 
for singing it once. Under these circumstances, 
the piece is left to John Bull's natural apathy. 
With respect to instrumentalists, v hen one has 



206 

eventually appeared before the public, and suc- 
ceeded, the little advantage he derives from his 
pre-eminence is to be attributed to a similar cause ; 
and until our taste is sufficiently improved to make 
us prefer a fine piece of music, perfectly executed, 
to the bad singing of any indifferent song^ there 
seems little chance of its being otherwise. 

We have no intention to indulge in, or rather to 
be forced into, personalities ; although we think it 
must be sufficiently apparent that we possess ample 
means of being excessively pointed in that way, 
and of proving our accusations. We consider it of 
no use to overthrow any knave or blockhead, when 
another is sure to rise in his place, duly promoted 
to the three-legged stool ! It is the principle only 
that we attack : it is the false medium, the barrier, 
and the abuse that we would expose, trample down, 
and reform. 

Nevertheless, we do not hold ourselves exempt 
from an occasional exception, where the illustrative 
enormity almost compels us to make it generally 
known. 

About two years since, a young gentleman of 



207 

ability, offered himself as a singer to Covent Gar- 
den. The malicious Director proposed that he 
should first be examined as an actor; doubtless, 
because the English stage very properly requires 
that every singer should at least act respectably. 
It so happened that he was not unprepared, nor 
incompetent, in this latter respect: Mr. C. Kemble 
shook hands with him, and expressed his high 
approbation, &c. He then sang; and that also 
was approved. He was not, however, a pupil of 
one of the " craft." The musical director then 
took him up the back of the stage, and said, in his 
peculiar macaw voice, " Well, sir, you see Mr. 
Kemble is your friend — heh ! — and Mr. Bartley — 
and Fm your friend — and, heh V — There was a 
pause. The novice did not catch " the idea; " and 
by sundry managerial gradations, was edged out of 
his engagement. Some time after this, upon a 
renewed application, the director spoke at large 
upon the various peculiarities the said individual 
had yet to acquire, and concluded by stating that 
his terms were a guinea and a half a lesson ! The 
applicant, whose talent was already formed, felt 



208 

disgusted and insulted ; took no lessons, and of 
course was not suffered to come out. 

He should have taken lessons to the amount of 
fifty pounds, we perceive ; and if he could not have 
spared the preposterous sum demanded of him for 
his weekly lessons, out of his private pocket, he 
should have referred the Director to his forthcoming 
salary for payment, who would have obtained one 
for him sufficient for the occasion. .This is the 
way these matters are managed. It ought not to 
be omitted, that the same individual had made 
hhjtrst application more than three years since, in 
the same quarter, when the director said, among 
other things, all tending to his favourite purpose, 
46 Your object, sir, is to get your foot upon the 
stage — heh ! — not so easy a matter !" The novice 
did not apprehend his real meaning ; and in reply 
to sundry cavillings, thinking to carry his point by 
natural spirit, said, " Well, sir, let me come out 
then, not as a principal character, which, it is true, 
has been my ambition, but as a chorus-singer— and 
I will work my way up J" The Director paused ; 
then added significantly, " Heh ! you Ye a cunning 



209 

fellow, sir!" All the above is verbatim ; let him 
deny it if he dare. 

But to mention another instance. Let the same 
director ask his conscience, — that narrow slip of 
parchment, — whether he did not occasion the en- 
tire ruin of young Dean, by insisting upon his 
coming out in an opera which did not suit him, in 
preference to the one he himself would have chosen ? 
Why then did he come out in it ? Nobody would 
use that argument who was aware of the extreme 
difficulty of getting out in any way. The opera 
substituted by the director, was one that thoroughly 
exposed Mr. Dean's deficiencies as an actor, and 
gave no opportunity for the display of his capa- 
bilities as a singer. Though he had an excellent 
voice and method, and was an accomplished musi- 
cian, (a far better one than the director himself,) 
his failure was a necessary consequence. It preyed 
upon his spirits, and hastened his premature end. 
How different would have been his " first appear- 
ance," had he been introduced as " pupil" of Tom 
Nokes, or Sir Snaffle Snuffle * ? 

* How palpable that the " office" made " the man" ! Now 
that he no longer holds it, you scarcely ever hear his name. 



210 

Nothing can be more shameful than the : pupil 
system , by which an individual, of whatever talent, 
is compelled to article himself, or herself, to one of 
the directors, or one of the influences — the barrier 
and false medium — in order to obtain an engage- 
ment, or even a trial. Is it not a bitterly hard case, 
that those whose talent is already formed, should 
find it necessary to be articled to one of these rapa- 
cious quacks, for three, four, or five years, to 
enable them to get a fair hearing with the public, 
and a salary, in case of success, half of which the 
same shark constantly receives during that period, 
by virtue of the exercise of his interest, and the 
great pains he has taken in giving half a dozen 
lessons, of about ten minutes' duration ? There have 
been many sufferers of this kind upon the boards, 
(and no doubt there are some still) working out their 
articles, and laughing bitterly at the losing joke of 
their lessons, who would in vain have solicited an 
engagement without adopting the aggravating alter- 
native. 

This is not all. What can surpass the bare- 
faced impudence with which Mr. T. W — — has 
appropriated to his own fame, as well as emolument, 



211 

the pupils of Lanza ? Miss Stephens, for instance. 
Miss M. Tree, also, came out as a pupil of Mr. 

T. C 's, the real instructor, Lanza, not having 

sufficient interest to bring her properly before the 
public. Miss Shireff studied a long time under 
eminent masters, (seven years were passed under 
Dr. Essex,) and then appeared as a pupil of Mr. 

W *s ! The truth is, we have very few English 

masters who understand the proper formation of 
the voice, and the best method of using it. Those 
who are most popular know very little about the 
matter. Only compare the mawkish pupils of Sir 

G. with such singers as Miss Bellchambers, 

and Miss Atkinson, who are only known at the 
concerts. The former would by this time have 
been ' a star ' upon the boards, had she not indig- 
nantly refused to be hoaxed forth as " a pupil of 
Mr. Prig!" Mr. Martin, who lately appeared in 
the opera of Giovanni, and succeeded very well, 
came from Scotland, and by virtue of a few nonsen- 
sical lessons, issues forth a " bran new M pupil of 

Mr. T. C 's ! These hoaxes are bad enough 

in themselves, and become shameful when so dearly 
paid for. 



212 

The difficulties which new actors and singers, who 
foolishly think that real merit is alone sufficient to 
procure them an engagement, have to encounter 
before they can find means to get even an appear- 
ance upon the boards of one of the patent theatres, 
are seldom to be surmounted without the pro- 
gressive sufferance of years of disappointed per- 
severance. This, however, is chiefly the case where 
their merit is of a very superior character, for 
mediocrity, as we continually see, generally finds a 
ready admission, by some means or other, and an 
advantageous engagement. Nor is the precarious 
ordeal the above individuals have to undergo in 
passing muster with acting managers, musical 
directors, theatrical committees, &c, the only 
hard fate to which they are exposed. When at 
length ; by the process of time and its chances ; a 
lucky illness or absence of some enemy or actor in 
the same department ; a well-applied sum of money ; 
the emergency of a new piece ; or the judicious con- 
cealment of the extent of his originality and capa- 
bility ; a new applicant succeeds in making his way 
on to the stage through the dense press of the 



213 

ignorance, obstinacy, and knavery of its " too many 
cooks ; " he has then to contend with the private 
hatred, envy, and malice of his brother performers. 
Actors entertain the bitterest personal ill-will 
against each other: it greatly exceeds that of 
authors, which is saying enough, but not too 
much. The circumstances which ought most to 
excite their kindness -and friendly countenance, at 
least, is the very thing which produces the most 
opposite effect — the recollection of their own pre- 
vious difficulties. The idea of an individual coming 
out at one of the great theatres in London, who 
has not been a miserable drudge for years in the 
country, like themselves, is unbearable. We will 
mention one or two of their favourite tricks, just 
to give the public a hint of their behaviour to 
a new comer. Packing the galleries with a flock 
of rabble geese, who are to lay in wait for any in- 
accuracy or indiscretion, and subsequently crush 
the debutant by taking advantage of his confusion 
or nervousness ; or, in the absence of such oppor- 
tunity, to create a vulgar row, and perhaps a sham 
fight, so that the rest may drown his best passages, 



214 

and distract him in his critical points, by roaring 
for silence and the expulsion of the disputants ; 
is sufficiently known, though the public are never 
aware of it — at the time. But it is not so well 
known, because ostensible to musical men only, 
that the leader, conductor, and double basses of an 
orchestra, singly or collectively, can ruin a new 
singer, either by destroying his best passages and 
intentions, or throwing him completely out ; with 
an ease that renders it quite unapparent to the 
audience, yet certain in its effect. It must have 
been perceived by most people, that the English 
orchestras never attend to the iC pianos" and 
" fortes" of any new singer, when left to themselves. 
He must be a " pupil," and have his master in the 
orchestra. The chief trick of malice, however, in 
the actors, is the following, which has been kept 
hitherto, a close masonic secret among the elect, 
never admitted in words even among themselves. 
When a new actor or singer, whose damnation is 
particularly desired, is about to make his most 
effective point, he is manoeuvred up the back of 
the stage, either by the previous actions of the 



215 

others, or else by the private by-play stepping 
back of the one he is immediately associated with 
in the scene ; so that, at the climax, his voice is 
lost among the side-wings and lofty flies, and the 
next speaker or singer instantly taking up his part, 
before the applause can even have a chance of 
beginning, the said climax, upon which perhaps so 
much study had been bestowed and so many hopes 
built, passes off as nothing ; and in this manner he 
is foiled and disheartened two or three times, which 
are generally quite sufficient. We recently saw an 
actor invidiously try this trick upon Kean, in order 
to take advantage of the physical weakness which 
would have rendered his intended point less than 
ineffective ; but cleverly as the gradual retreat was 
covered with by-play, the old stager saw through 
it in a moment, and with all the spirit and decision 
of genius, turned it into an advantage. Instead 
of the passion bursting forth on the spot to which 
he had been unavoidably drawn, he rushed upon 
the manceuvrer, dragged him down the stage to 
the very lamps, and then made his point. The 
public were electrified ! — the gentlemen of the press 



216 

thought it a preconcerted thing. But a " debu- 
tant" would not have been aware of the well-acted 
design ; or, if he had, would not have dared to meet 
it in the same way. The ill-natured custom, also, of 
not looking at a " debutant," and thus superseding 
or preventing his by-play ; marring him in his points, 
or cutting him out of them by hastily taking up 
their own right, or wrong, cue ; for it may be done 
both ways ; putting him out and throwing him off 
his guard by unconcerted crossings, wrong en- 
trances or exits, and actions not previously used at 
rehearsals ; and not countenancing him when acting 
to them, or else out-facing him in an arrogant or 
contemptuous manner, — are also among the choice 
instances of histrionic charity and brotherly love. 

We have already spoken of the ignorance and 
abuses in the management of the two great houses, 
but we must spare room just to touch once more 
upon the subject. 

It is some years since the sages exhibited their 
barriers to Mrs. Wood, then Miss Paton ; but it is 
not many more months since an ' acting committee ■ 
behaved with point-blank ignorance and injustice, 



217 

and the most contemptible impudence to another 
singer ; who, however, had spirit enough to make 
them shrink into their natural insignificance. So 
thoroughly saturated with practical ignorance are 
those men who officiate in the managerial system, 
and so case-hardened is their bare-faced impenetra- 
bility, that, upon the above occasion, when the in- 
dividual, whose capabilities as a singer and actor 
had been previously admitted by competent judges, 
(Charles Kemble, Bartley, &c, and De Begnis, 
Donzelli, Zuchelli, Madame Blasis, with all of 
whom he had sang duets at public concerts), refused 
to succumb to the false grounds of their objection 
to him at rehearsal, and argued the question in the 
private committee-room, with Messrs. Bunn, Mor- 
ton, Bishop, and the heroic posture-master, Wallack, 
challenging them in vain, singly or collectively, to 
adduce any direct instances of impropriety or ill- 
suited action — since nothing was said of his singing, 
for which he had expressly offered himself — and 
mentioning several names of those who had been 
rejected upon premature decisions, and with unfair 
hearings, they interrupted him by taking up the 



218 

manifold tale, with all the unconsciousness of 
executioners, and actually helped him to some half 
a dozen more names, all of which were beacon-like 
examples of the asinine perversity of their race ! 
And they will do this at any time, to show their 
theatrical knowledge. On the above occasion, they 
sneaked out of the room one at a time. It only 
remains to add, that his rejection was quite contrary 
to the previous impression and desire of Captain 
Treasurer, (called by courtesy, the manager,) and 
also against his own word of promise ; but he suf- 
fered himself to be served precisely as a publisher 
is by his Reader. The principle is exactly the same. 
The individual, to whom we allude, was Mr. Lenox ; 
and, with any thing like fair play, we venture 
our belief, that he will not have appeared half a 
season, if in suitable parts, before he will be gene- 
rally acknowledged as the most dramatic singer that 
ever appeared on the English stage. The manner 
in which his first appearance was hailed at Covent 
Garden some months ago, by upwards of a dozen 
unfeed periodicals, almost supersedes the merit of 
our being the first to advance such an opinion. 



219 

While the natural result of this blind system 
has long been manifested in the regular bankruptcy 
of the progressive managers, (the recent lessee of 
Drury being an exception, for obvious reasons) 
and continual distress of both great houses ; we had 
next to contemplate the humiliating fact of one of our 
metropolitan theatres having passed into the hands of 
a foreigner. Was it not enough for the reflection of 
native talent, that he should have the Italian Opera, 
without shaming the whole nation by becoming the 
proprietor of Covent Garden for a period of seven 
years. We wage no war against Monsieur Laporte ; 
his conduct only shows to what we have brought 
ourselves. He is a very clever, speculating, shrewd 
man, who perceiving our perverse ignorance and 
folly, has come over to take every advantage of us ; 
and we indignantly wish him every success. We 
beheld with scornful pleasure the debasement of 
Covent Garden ; the quiet frank dismissal of legi- 
timate tragedy and comedy from the stage, which 
characterised his first attack upon the Drama ; his 
thorough devotion to shows, foreign processions, 
dancing and singing, and gaudy decorations ; the 

l2 



220 

ejectment of many of the veteran performers in the 
orchestra, and the supplying it with foreigners (a 
very natural thing for him to do, and of course to 
be expected) — the reduction of salaries, 4 ad libi- 
tum/ and his closing or opening the theatre at 
his best convenience in the course of the week ; 
the economical shutting up of one box-entrance, 
thereby getting rid of sundry door-keepers, check- 
takers, &c., and declining the " stately presence" of 
the soldiers pacing in front ; thus saving not less 
than three hundred per annum. The soldiers are 
of no more use than the stone figures over the grand 
entrance : but we like to see a grand entrance. We 
approve of a somewhat imposing show outside; 
it is the imposing show inside that we detest and 
scorn. 

Laporte having stipulated with his foreign com- 
pany at his Italian Opera, that they should also 
perform at his Covent Garden, the " Treasurer" of 
Drury Lane exerted himself to the utmost to rival 
him in the preposterous display of gorgeous infer- 
nahj male and female attitudes, and all kinds of 
twelfth-cake representations. Hence, we have re- 



221 

cently been favoured with the three great theatres 
of London all performing the same sort of nonsense 
together. The " ballet" of Kenil worth at Covent 
Garden was peculiarly adapted to the manliness of 
English taste. We there saw the noble Earl of 
Leicester stand upon the point of a single toe, with 
the other leg lifted horizontally stiff, like a pair of 
compasses, and then dance before the Virgin Queen 
like winking*. We felt quite ashamed — particularly 
for the British drama. 

Laporte adopted the excellent plan of giving us 
a practical lecture upon ' National Genius,*' and 
having shown us, either that we scarcely possess 
any, or else that it is only fit to be trampled under 
foot by foreign dancers, showmen, singers, fiddlers, 
tragedy hoaxes, and an African Roscius, has quietly 
sneaked out of his ostensible situation, to counter- 
mine us by a fresh manoeuvre. 

The public witness the fall of one of the patent 
theatres into the hands of a foreign speculator, who 
came to this country, by his own confession, " with 
only half a crown in his pocket," and are content : 
they are favoured with continental trash and native 



trash, and still content : they know the ill-treat- 
ment of the English performers, and finally be- 
hold their entire ejectment from the theatre : yet 
John Ox maintains his lordly apathy ! The patent 
theatre having been " closed for the season," merely 
to afford a covering to the intended trick, no 
sooner is the original company established at the 
Olympic, than the said patent theatre re-opens, 
with an entire German company. The regular 
play-goers make a little bluster about this, and 
threaten opposition, but soon become reconciled, 
and retire on observing the name of an English 
manager held upas a qualifying shield. Block- 
heads ! do you not see that Mr. Bunn is in secret 
league with Laporte, and that the retired ex-lessee 
of Drury Lane, " like a sheep before his shearers, 
that is dumb," still continues to find " means " for 
these jobbing tacticians # ? 

Let us offer a word in conclusion about the 



* This is the state of affairs at present, May 18th. It re- 
quires a daily periodical to keep pace with their chicaneries 
and absurdities. 



223 

proprietors or shareholders of the patent theatres. 
At Covent Garden no dividend has been paid for 
some years; free admissions, however, have been 
liberally given in exchange to the shareholders and 
their friends. At Drury Lane a dividend is still 
paid, and the managers seem to consider that this 
fulfilment of an honest agreement is so meritorious 
an occurrence, that it renders it quite unnecessary 
to attend to the other legal stipulations. According 
to the documents, a share-holder is entitled to go 
into any part of the house in front of the curtain 
he may choose, on any night of performance when 
not a " benefit " or a play for charitable pur- 
poses, &c, with the exception of fifteen boxes. 
He is now excluded from Jbrty boxes ; and, if we 
could devote the space, we could enter much fur- 
ther into abuses, the practice of which amounts to 
saying ' Get out of your house ! ' So much for 
building a theatre. We anticipate the commence- 
ment of several actions at law against certain 
parties, which will soon bring them to their senses. 
This will be a much better plan than that of a 
friend of ours, an Irish gentleman, who threatens 



224 

to take a barrel of gunpowder into the pit with 
him, and blow up his share ! 



VI. 

The Royal Academy. — When the results 
of any proposition, theory, system, or conventional 
establishment, are discovered, through a long course 
of years, to contradict or neutralise the admitted 
aim and design; the premises must either be false, 
or the induction, whether theoretical or practical, 
unsound and disjointed. The Royal Academy is 
a pompous body of pretensions that confute them- 
selves. The public can no longer be deceived, 
and will not be fooled ; the measure of monopoly 
is full, and indignation must at last speak out. 

The writer in the New Monthly of last May, 
himself a talented artist, has gone a great way 
towards proving all the following important 
charges. — 1st. That the Academy is averse to a 
charter that would render it amenable to the laws 



225 

of the country. 2ndly. It has done little to pro- 
mote, and much to prevent, the advance of the 
fine arts. 3rdly. That a progress in the fine arts 
has been most conspicuous in those branches which 
have not been subjected to the care or instructions 
of the Academy. 4thly. That the control held by 
that institution over rising genius, reduces artists 
to an abject dependence on their will, totally at 
variance with that freedom and dignity, without 
which the fine arts can do but little in support of 
civilisation and virtuous sentiment. Sthly. That, 
instead of keeping their power within their walls, 
they have attempted to produce an universal sub- 
serviency to their dictation and interest ; so much 
so, indeed, that even the House of Commons has 
deputed its authority to this company, which 
depends on the breath of its patron, losing sight 
of that important distinction between royal and 
national institutions." 

We recommend every individual, who takes a 
sincere interest in the advancement of the fine arts 
in this country, to peruse the writer's substantiation 
of the above. We shall offer a few additional 
remarks. l 3 



226 

The dislike of the Royal Academicians to a 
legal charter is a palpable inference from the 
extreme secrecy maintained as to all their pro- 
ceedings, which might otherwise be brought to 
light. They are at present the supreme of all 
monopolists, and they wish to remain so. The 
Royal Academy is the closest of all corpora- 
tions : the Academicians elect the Academicians 
in private ; or how came so many cousins and sons 
among them ? The term 'Associates' is a misnomer, 
for they have no voice whatever in any proceedings, 
and seldom even any knowledge of them. Its 
judgment seat is an inquisitorial tribunal, from 
whose verdict there is no appeal ; except to the 
king — who knows nothing about the matter. Its 
despotic power has always been the same. What 
was Barry^s crime that he should be excommuni- 
cated ? One count was this ; he asked what they 
did with the money ? 

It is plain that they do not sincerely endeavour 
to advance the fine arts, except as coincident with 
their own interest, because they keep back men of 
great and original merit. One effectual method of 



227 

doing this, is that of placing a condemned good 
picture so high, so low, or in so bad a light, that 
it can only be seen, if seen at all, to its greatest 
disadvantage; for it surely must be evident that 
the intended effect of any picture can easily be 
destroyed by hanging it in positive opposition to 
the principle upon which it was painted. A few 
discouragements of this kind are enough to disgust 
the artist, and convince him that he is only wasting 
his time in striving for advancement according to 
his approach to excellence. The monopolists will 
affirm, that they never place a fine painting in a 
bad situation. But let us candidly ask them 
whether they can do j ustice to other good pictures 
by the non-elect, after they have hung all their own 
productions in the best places ? They can hardly 
avoid hanging all the rest too high or too low. 
The writer in the New Monthly may well adduce 
Gibson and Martin as instances of excluded 
genius. The stupendous designs of the latter, are 
well known to the public, from the numerous mez- 
zotintos : let any one who has a sense of beauty 
and grace, look at Gibson's exquisite marble group. 



228 

in the present exhibition ! Where can be the 
understanding, or the conscience of the lords para- 
mount in art ? G. P. also mentions Mr. Clint as 
having produced pictures that justly entitled him to 
be advanced from the " purgatorio" of long Asso- 
ciateship ; and his argument would have been 
enhanced had he alluded to the naval compositions 
of Drummond, whose designs have been pronounced 
by most of the Academicians themselves, to be 
masterly productions. The Academicians have 
long since avowed that they do not confer the 
diploma of an Associate upon any individual, 
unless they consider his talent entitles him to the 
superior rank, as the natural sequence. Why then 
do they not elect according to seniority ? But no ; 
the said declaration does not prevent them from 
keeping him twenty years "in waiting" while their 
own friends and relations are put over his head. 
Merit, of whatever superiority, is a secondary con- 
sideration to such interested ties; including, also, 
a subserviency to all their private views and plans ; 
the only exception, perhaps, to which very national 
claims, being the notice taken by the public of the 



#20 

unjust neglect, and the reiteration of a forcible 
indignation. The long exclusion of artists of 
ability may be owing to three circumstances, in 
addition to the above desiderata: their poverty, 
independence of conduct, or intellectual abilities; 
which latter disqualification, when united to the 
other two, is certain to act against them, from the 
consciousness of the monopolists that it would be 
dangerous to the continuance of their " sub rosa " 
proceedings. 

As to their instructions having produced so few 
good artists, it is an old theory of ours, that, 
beyond the rudiments, ground-work, or method, 
whether theoretic or mechanical, no man is ever 
taught to do any thing great ; he must teach 
himself. You may learn the grammar without 
going to college ; and it is best for you not to 



go there. 



The control exercised by the Royal Academy 
over rising genius, curbs its energy, and by re- 
ducing it ; on pain of losing all countenance and 
proper treatment; to the necessity of conforming to 



280 

temporary models and styles, commonly destroys 
originality in the bud. In short, they wish all 
public opinion upon the fine arts to rise, centre, 
and terminate with themselves, and thus direct 
the public mind according to their own time- 
serving views, vanities and interests. Even a grant 
of Parliament cannot be made for the erection 
of a National Gallery, but an extra sum must be 
required that a new Royal Academy may be foisted 
into the plan, and thus maintain its supreme and 
universal dominion. So much for making interest 
against nationality. We have heard that an official 
letter was addressed to Lord Melbourne upon the 
subject, who requested, in reply, to be informed 
what were their by-laws? Mr. Hume wished to 
know the same. This is one of the points on which 
the public are so anxious to be instructed. What 
are your by-laws ? 

With regard to the Pension Fund, it is as com- 
plicated in its management as questionable in its 
effects. How many Academicians have ever re- 
ceived it? Why, very few. Is it then chiefly 



231 

appropriated to the widows ? We ""very much 
doubt it*. 

The Academicians are now complaining of the 
difficulties and poverty of the establishment, and 
affirm, that there are not sufficient funds in hand to 
carry it on with advantage to themselves and the 
fine arts. It is said — and can they prove to the 
contrary — that the product of the exhibition four 
years ago was 6000/. : let them answer candidly 
whether their expenses are more than 3000/, ? The 
last exhibition we believe to have produced very 
little ; but has not the average sum gained by the 
exhibitions doubled the average of the expenses ? 
In fine, we would ask whether there is not some 
other fund, or surplus of exhibitions, besides the 
intangible Pension Fund, from the former of which 
it requires the king^s signature to enable them to 
draw any sum of money for the current expenses, 
or other purposes ? 

All their proceedings are carried on in the most 



* It will be seen that our view of this matter is very differ- 
ent from that of Mr. G. F. 



232 

perplexing c chiaroscuro,** and a man may be a mem- 
ber twenty years and know no more of the receipts 
and expenditures than if he had a diploma from 
the moon. If the Royal Academy is an exclusive 
junto — a private body revolving in a corner — the 
public ought to request these explanations with all 
due deference; if it be a National Institution we 
have a right to demand them. 

No person of any liberality of mind can suppose 
for a moment, that we intend, by the above stric- 
tures upon the Royal Academy as a body, to reflect 
upon the genius of individuals. We admire such 
men as Turner, Etty, Wilkie, Rossi, &c. to the 
utmost of their high deserts. We object to the 
Academy as a monopoly, which is baneful in many 
respects, to rising genius, and of little use at the 
best. 

G. F. quotes thus from Fuself s Lectures : " We 
have now been in possession of an Academy more 
than half a century: " and after enumerating the 
various advantages to be derived from it, he says 
"and what is the result? If we apply to our 
exhibition, what does it present, in the aggregate, 



233 

but a gorgeous display of varied powers, con- 
demned ; if not to the beasts, at least to the dictates 
of fashion and vanity? Florence, Bologna, and 
Venice, each singly taken, produced more great 
historic pictures than all Britain together, from its 
earliest attempts at painting to its present efforts." 
While the Academy is manifestly of no good to 
the nation, it is not even necessary to the Acade- 
micians, unless to those who are unworthy of the 
rank. The superior artists might form a society 
like that of the water Colourists, and if thus united, 
they would reap a harvest that might almost double 
what they gain by their present secret association. 
Why does not the spirited writer in the New 
Monthly drive home the conclusion. The Aca- 
demy, in the course of upwards of sixty dark years, 
has expended vast sums of money to no good 
purpose. It swarms the country with artists, but 
produces very few of real ability. It had better be 
swept away entirely. 



284 



VII. 



Science, Learning, and Colleges. — Therg 
Is a fatal starting point, from whence almost all 
men of genius, whether in science, art, or in what- 
ever department, advance upon a mistaken prin- 
ciple with respect to actual life. It is one in which 
they often persist, even to the edge- of madness ; 
that is, wilfully against reason and the experience 
of ages ; yet one which seems quite incurable : we 
mean the incorrigible, preposterous anticipation of 
acquiring fame and wealth according to their real 
merits. Melancholy indeed is the slow result ; 
and we say slow, because such is the infatuation, 
that they never believe their distress to be a final 
result. 

In the foregoing pages, we have shown how 
those have been treated by the world, who pro- 
duced works of genera] interest and excitement, 
and have endeavoured to elucidate the fundamental 
causes. It will therefore be unnecessary to dwell 
upon the almost inevitable fate of those who 



235 

depend for support upon the production of works 
addressed solely to the very limited number of the 
profound in science, and the erudite in learning. 
When such men, so circumstanced, are not starved, 
then, to invert Ockley^s fine orientalism, the stars 
must have altered their courses ! 

There are three great difficulties, " the least, a 
death to nature," against original projectors and 
inventors: the long rooted prejudices of man- 
kind ; private and public stupidity as to novelties ; 
and the commercial difficulty, which is the greatest, 
because self-interest soon enlists the reason and 
the will on its side. All those who ought to know 
most about the matter, as the public say, pronounce 
it a dangerous innovation, and set their faces against 
it*. The individual is soon ruined, and in the 

* Discoveries or improvements in pleasurable or interest- 
ing mechanical arts, are as likely to be the ruin of the 
inventors, as those in the useful. We think it very probable 
that Messrs. Flight and Robson were ruined from specula- 
tions, directly or indirectly founded upon the Apollonicon. 
We trust the same mistake will not be made by the inventors 
of the Hydro-Oxygen Microscope. We also take the liberty 

of recommending Mr. C rane to be careful how he devotes 

his genius for mechanics to the improvement of mills, or any- 
thing else. 



236 

course of a few years, a fortune is made by others, 
who obtain a patent for the same thing a little 
improved, while the sage public exclaim, " Who 
would have thought it ? " 

To discover a great truth, or to put forth an 
important originality of any kind, is felt like a 
personal attack upon the self-love of every pro- 
fessor, pompous scholar, or advocate of the esta- 
blished system or opinion, and is contested and 
opposed accordingly. How deeply must John 
Hunter have felt this mean, yet no less cruel 
injustice ; how must the starving Sydenham have 
writhed beneath his remorseless fate ! Whether from 
obstinate ignorance, interest, or prejudice, every 
novelty, of whatever value and consequence, is con- 
sidered an innovation. It most commonly arises from 
a union of these, acting upon individual vanity. 
The professors cannot concede their false self- 
importance, however important the truth that may 
be at stake. The " flattering unction" of the 
soul soliloquizes thus : — ' We must not suffer the 
world to be deluded by these erroneous notions 
or visionary improvements, and led astray by 



237 

pretenders and adventurers.' The mute, but in- 
fluencing activity of identical sensation, would say, 
6 Insolent presumption ! to arrogate a superior 
knowledge to us, and to all past generations be- 
sides ! Have all of us been blockheads, and are 
we all still blockheads, except this man ? — Down 
with him P 

We have commonly found professors, and those 
who ought to propagate and support new and im- 
portant discoveries, from whatever quarter they 
arise, exert themselves to the utmost on the oppo- 
nent side, or else turn a deaf ear and an averted 
countenance. They are purblind with self-con- 
ceit, ignorance, and prejudice. We cannot refrain 
relating an anecdote, which ; though we invert the 
argument ; is a practical illustration of the three 
last mentioned qualifications. 

Dr. S— — , the author of the celebrated attack 
upon phrenology ; the strongest and most scien- 
tific, by far, that had then appeared ; accompanied 
us, at our request, some two or three years ago, to 

Dr. Spurzheim's, in Street, for the purpose 

of inspecting the Golgothian Museum. We there 



238 

found a Mr. \ (let him keep his own secret) 

who soon felt the many polite questions of Dr. 
S (whom he did not happen to know) becom- 
ing exceedingly troublesome ; and the latter, anxious 
for the discovery of truth, persevered, notwith- 
standing the entrance and auxiliary voices of several 
other gentlemen who warmly advocated the new 
science. Skulls were flourished on high all round 
our living heads ; and the former, .contrasted with 
the excited faces of the disputants, as they each 
held a skull with one hand, and smote the organs 
in question with the fingers of the other, made the 
scene singularly grotesque, and of rather equivocal 
sensation to some of the uninitiated visiters. The 
living and the dead seemed to take an equal part 
in the increasing vehemence of the discussion. 
This is a plain description of natural impressions ; 
there is no attempt or wish to make what is called 
" a good story" of it. The manner in which the 
contest was carried on, was highly original in itself, 
more particularly when the combatants came to 
personalities. " You would not make that absurd 
remark," quoth Mr. , " if you had the organ 



239 

of ; number' properly developed." " Nor would 
you have said what you did about that other 
cranium," calmly retorted the Doctor, " if you had 
not yourself a similar want of ' perceptivity.'" " I 
see" — reddening with anger — " I see * indivi- 
duality" marked very strong upon your head!" 
" Do you ? — which individuality, upper or lower ?" 
— with a sneer. " Both !"-- in a voice of thunder. 
Debating thus against this array of men and mutes, 
Dr. S. at length became inaudible and out-faced, 
and he ceased speaking. Whereupon the said 
Mr. commenced a long harangue, and con- 
cluded with this peroration, which is nearly verba- 
tim. " I perceive, sir, that you are completely 
ignorant, even of the rudiments of the science. 
Before we can read, sir, we usually begin with 
our letters ; we then learn to put them together, 
and thus arrive at small, easy words. Master of 
these, we proceed to longer words, to sentences, and 
so on, till gradually we reach the ability required. 
Now, sir, I recommend you to go and study the 
alphabet of this science ; and when, after the above 
progressive method, you have learnt to read and to 



240 

know, come back here, and we will then argue the 
question at length, and discuss any book you please. 
We '11 take S — — 's pamphlet, if you like, and go 

through it page for page ! " Dr. S , the author 

of it, bowed with philosophic humility, and we 
retired. 

This anecdote is not quoted as a jest against the 
science of phrenology, in which, to a certain extent, 
we are believers ; (a man of deep thought always 
has the marks on his forehead : it can never look 
like an empty plate;) but as a ridiculous, matter-of- 
fact instance of that supercilious bigotry and ignor- 
ance, which is to be found " in full plume" among 
professors of all systems. Systems are necessary 
to all physical, and many moral sciences ; but the 
abuses tend proportionately to destroy the systems 
themselves. 

While we are fully conscious that men of very 
superior intellect, exclusive of their erudite attain- 
ments, are occasionally met with among professors 
in all classes of human knowledge and research, we 
are equally aware, that they are only as exceptions. 
What is the reason that there is scarcely an instance 



241 

of any man of extraordinary genius who was not 
considered a dunce at school, and who probably 
was so, in what his master most excelled, — the 
memory of mere words, and application of scholastic 
rules? What is the reason that such a man of 
genius never makes " a figure" at college, though 
he makes " his mark" upon the heart of Posterity ; 
or rather, why is he almost invariably expelled*? 
The chief causes are elucidated in the foregoing 
pages. (Vide Causes, sect. IV. Anatomy of False 
Oracles, and sect. II. Defence of the Higher Orders.) 
We shall perhaps be reminded, that, in addition to 
their probable inability to shine, or even make a 
moderate progress in the usual collegiate studies, 
their personal behaviour has been deficient in pro- 
per respect to professors, and their general conduct, 
wild, refractory, and not to be endured. Without 
dwelling upon the fact of this latter charge being 
equally applicable to hundreds, who never after- 

* One of the highest honours that can attend a youth's 
outset in life, is to be expelled from college, for manifesting 
a resistance to servile ignorance and brutal tyranny. Such 
was the case with Shelley, and many others. 

M 



242 

wards become known to the world for any merit, 
though very often for their depravity, &c, we can 
only say, that the misconduct of a man of genius at 
any college establishment is a natural consequence. 
He soon entertains a hearty contempt for professors, 
who constantly mistake a " copia verborum" and the 
lumber of learning, for true knowledge and wisdom, 
to the utter exclusion of all original ideas, or real 
appreciation of power and beauty ; and after en- 
during many dogmatic lectures, long rustications, 
and reprimands, he of course feels disgusted and 
aggravated, at finding their stupidity mistaken by 
general admission for his. The re-action is gene- 
rally a wild escape from dull, turgid words, in- 
numerable rules, and dry, marrowless systems, into 
a riotous illumination of spirit, often leading to 
some incendiary ode or pamphlet, but more com- 
monly to reckless defiance, exuberant folly, and 
dissolute revels. 

Pretension founded upon pedantry is the most 
conspicuous quality, or rather, quantity, that is 
commonly acquired at College. 

Let us revert finally to the previous subject. 



243 

After all the " dreamers" and " visionaries" 
whose discoveries and predictions we have seen 
verified by facts, and admitted by the world, it 
surely is not safe for any one to be either hasty 
or violent in any novel discussion, if he would be 
thought a sensible man. It is not only unwise ; it 
is as great a want of charity and good feeling. 
There are no bounds to science but the primitive 
elements. Hercules was long a child, but he was 
sure to be Hercules. Homer and Xtaffaelle were 
born giants at once : they can be no more than 
Immortals. But Science and Time are of equally 
slow growth, though sure (barring a Deluge) even- 
tually to arrive at ail that can be known and 
effected. A great traveller seldoms doubts of any 
wonders : the more a man has seen and suffered, the 
more he believes : the more we know, the more we 
believe may be known. Wisdom and folly are of 
equal credulity and incredulity : but wisdom has 
grounds for both — folly no grounds for either. 
Nothing is impossible that does not include 
impossibility. 



m 2 



2U 



VIIL 

Of Publishers. — We have devoted so much 
consideration to Disappointed Authors, and the 
principal difficulties, grievances, and undeserved 
sufferings of all men of genius, with the exposition 
of the chief causes, that we can scarcely devote a 
space to treat of minor individuals. We will, how- 
ever, pause a moment to say a few words — in the 
genteelest manner — upon Disappointed Publishers. 

A Publisher is a gentleman who commences 
business as a book merchant, and his experienced 
friends give him the following advice. ' You are 
not to consider yourself as a literary man, or enter- 
tain any high-flown notions about genius or talent 
which things you are only to understand in a prac- 
tical sense, as reflected upon your house by public 
opinion. The fame or reputation of a work, or a 
man's name, is what you are to purchase and spe- 
culate upon ; the merit, whether real or assumed, 
is a question that belongs to the writer, critic, and 
public, and not to be meddled with by you. Your 



245 

business is solely to sell books. You are to cater 
for the public taste, and according as you see them 
'bite'* so you are to provide as long as the craving 
lasts — -but not longer. You are to look upon 
authors as the * raw material.' You are to work 
them up by the machinery of your business, &nd 
apply them to such purposes as your peculiar line 
and connection require. In making use of an 
author, who is in high repute, your way is tolerably 
clear before you, although you are not to lose 
all discretion upon that account — which is a very 
common case. But if the author be unknown, it is 
all ' up hill ' with you both, and you cannot be 
too careful. To meet this difficulty you must 
employ a Reader.' 

All this is fair enough ; and a Publisher might 
follow such advice with safety and probable suc- 
cess : the mischief lies in the last word. It is a 
main point for a publisher's judgment, and there 
he fails. He chooses a man who turns out to be a 
false pocket-rule^— and farewell to fortune ! 

A " stirring" work is always looked upon as a 
dangerous undertaking. Each publisher likes to 



246 

see somebody else try it first, and then if he can 
afterwards obtain the copy-right from the venture- 
some merchant, he does so with great satisfaction. 
Those who wait till the gale is " blown over" for- 
get that it bears with its dangers, the best chances 
of fortune. The Rejected Addresses were refused at 
first by the Publisher (and by nearly all the rest) 
who has now brought out the work. The freshness 
is gone: the gale is blown over. After several 
thousand pounds are made by a book, a thou- 
sand is given for the copy-right ! The same 
gentleman declined Don Juan. He pretended that 
he did so on account of the immorality. It was 
from sheer timidity. He has brought the work 
out since : but the gale has blown over. 

The Publishers are a much-abused race ; but we 
sincerely believe the utmost they justly deserve, as 
a class, is to be considered a wry-mouthed joke for 
their rashness in speculating to the utmost upon 
mediocrity, and their ludicrous caution, or pusilla- 
nimous antipathy to all genuine power, owing to the 
weakness of resigning a sole and executive judgment 
to a fraternity of " ignes fatui," of pitfall celebrity, 



247 

whose false lights and omens are bred of the mere 
earthy vapours of a stagnant brain, consummated 
with the veriest impudence. The publishers with 
their readers are just like the farmers with Moore's 
Almanack. The "vox stellarum" is a mere con- 
juror's catch -penny, to expect truth from which, 
you might as well look for diamonds and pearls 
among hail, or listen for oracles from a fuming 
hay-stack. The destruction and loss of time and 
capital is all that ever " accrues due" from the 
ignorant faith. 

While the Publishers have systematically refused 
works of genius from unknown authors*, they have 
continually shown a rash munificence towards those 
who were popular ; and, in several instances, have 



* And with what delays or insults! If we were to issue 
an advertisement inviting all authors, even of acknowledged 
ability, to forward us a brief statement through our publisher, 
for our future consideration, of the shameful treatment they 
have experienced from managers, booksellers, &c., we have no 
doubt but in the space of a month we should receive half a 
cwU of letters. And while we are upon the subject, we may 
as well add, that we shall certainly pay attention to any tiptop 
specimen of ignorance or chicanery that may be forwarded. 



248 

gone so far as to bind themselves into an agreement 
to allow an income for a certain number of years — 
and sometimes for life— either without calculating 
at all, or else thoroughly miscalculating, how long 
that peculiar excellence, so much in vogue at the 
time, could reasonably be expected to last. They 
have always lost by it. We believe it was Peter 
Pindar's wit that caught them, and handsomely, too, 
for the whole term of his prolonged life ; but as no 
individual, whether a queer king, or eccentric com- 
moner, could possible be a good standing joke for 
more than three years, of course his subsequent 
productions hardly paid the expenses of print and 
paper. The publishers understood and admired 
his excellent wit by reason of its popularity ; but 
they did not know that practical wit — which they 
omderstand intuitively, and hate — was part of the 
bargain. If this is not a " Disappointed Pub- 
lisher " we know not what is ! However, the 
Gazette often hints at consequences. 

Perhaps no Publisher, within a given length of 
time, ever introduced half so many excellent works 
as Messrs. Taylor and Hessey ; and they were the 



249 

only publishers who ever accepted a book upon the 
sheer account of its merit. Mr. Taylor is himself 
a literary man, and did not employ a Reader. 
What other publisher would have undertaken 
Carey's Dante? &c. Ayton's Essays were pub- 
lished as a ' work of love,' and a memorial of the 
man. The bad success of these gentlemen was 
owing to the extraordinary force of the political 
tide at that period ; the proof of which is mani- 
fest from the fact of some of their publications com- 
mencing with a rapid sale, and stopping abruptly 
after the appearance of several virulent attacks 
from periodicals who were opposed to the politics 
or liberal sentiments of the writers*. The other 

* " The public read the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews, 
and believe them both ; or if there is a doubt, malice turns 
the scale. Taylor and Hessey told me that they had sold 
nearly two editions of the " Characters of Shakspeare's Plays'* 
in about three months; but after the Quarterly Review of 
them came out, they never sold another copy. The public* 
enlightened as they are, must have known the meaning of 
that attack as well as those who made it. It was not ignorance 
then, but cowardice, that led them to give up their own 
opinion/' — Hazlitt. 

The same conduct was adopted towards Leigh Hunt; and 

M 3 



250 

publishers have ruined themselves from adopting 
an opposite extreme. But to those, who, like 
Taylor and Hessey, accepted works upon the 
strength of their merit, such discouragement would 
not result now. The Public possess far more moral 
courage, and are very much disposed to judge for 
themselves. 

We ought not to omit that we are aware of 
various acts of high generosity on the part of 



also towards Keats, whose only offence was his friendship for 
the former. He was written down in both senses of the word. 
Keats resided for some time in the native place of the writer, 
who is well acquainted with the circumstances of his life. 

While this ill-fated and too sensitive genius was dying in 
Italy, he was so impressed with the sickening idea of the 
malevolent power of his gratuitous enemies, that he requested 
this epitaph might be inscribed on his tomb: " Here lies 
one whose name was written in water." A similar feeling 
induced the following lines in Hyperion. 

For me, dark, dark, 



And painful, vile oblivion seals my eyes; 

I strive to search wherefore I am so sad, 

Until a melancholy numbs my limbs; 

And then upon the grass I sit, and moan 

Like one who once had wings* Oh, why should I 

Feel curs'd and thwarted ? 



251 

Messrs, Taylor and Hessey; and upon one occa- 
sion, in particular, it was as noble in act as in the 
silence which has ever been maintained upon the 
subject. We believe that Constable, of Edinburgh, 
was also a generous, a humane, and a spirited man. 
Those who consider that, to make a Publisher, it is 
only necessary first to make an apprentice, as they 
would to any other business, commit a very absurd 
mistake. A Publisher holds a most important sta- 
tion in the social machine, and on his judgment and 
integrity depend the introduction of intellect to the 
world, and often the direction in which it is wielded. 
Added to this, he should be able to estimate genius 
and talent, and also to calculate the "form and 
pressure" of the time, and the permanent as well 
as changeful texture of the public mind and feeling. 
If it be supererogatory to remark, that to do this 
requires a man of comprehensive intellect and com- 
manding judgment, it is yet more so to add, that 
such qualities are very rare with all classes — and 
particularly with our friends the Publishers. 



252 



IX. 



Of Private and Public Judgment. — The 
sublimation of the intellect and the feelings, which 
leads to the production of works of genius, is one 
distinct principle; the embodying any given sub- 
ject according to regular canons of criticism and 
art, or the excellence that begins and ends with 
style and grace of manner, is another. The first 
results from a birth-right, the latter from an ac- 
quired talent. It is therefore natural enough that 
any individual possessing the qualities appertaining 
to only one of these intellectual conditions, should 
judge of every thing by a coincident standard; 
and the same will be the case with the gradations 
of either, or a compound of the two. Hence a 
man of limited genius may deny merit in another 
of a more comprehensive kind, and vice versa. The 
former cannot ascend to a corresponding eminence 
of thought and passion ; the others aspirations will 
seldom permit him to gaze with sufficient attention 
upon anything below his own grade of power. It 



253 

is perhaps a truism, to say that no one properly 
appreciates that which he cannot or will not enter 
into sincerely. Thus a man of talent, merely as 
such, is naturally liable to deny all genius that is 
unacknowledged by the world, whenever he meets 
with it. Disraeli has justly argued, that it by 
no means follows that envy or jealousy should be 
the occasion of one man of ability denying the 
merit of another*. The same gentleman calls the 
profoundly subtle Montaigne, " the airy Gascon !" 
and we, notwithstanding our admiration, are so 
blind or so eccentric as to designate Scott as a 
masterly anecdotist. 

" Every day we may observe, of a work of 
genius, that those parts which have all the raciness 
of the soil, and as such are most liked by its 
admirers, are those which are the most criticised. 
Modest critics shelter themselves under that gene- 
ral amnesty, too freely granted, that tastes are 

* " On the Literary Character." This work, like the 
generality by the same author, is narrative rather than 
analytic. It is, however, one of the most elegant and 
interesting productions in our language. 



254 

allowed to differ ; but we should approximate much 
nearer to the truth, if we say, that but few of man- 
kind are prepared to relish the beautiful with that 
enlarged taste which comprehends all the forms of 
feeling which genius may assume ; forms which may 
be necessarily associated with defects # ." 

This ought to be written in letters of gold, and 
placed opposite the tombs of the Aristarchi. 

In addition to the incompetency of private 
judgment in the average of critics, from the above 
causes, there is unfortunately a strong argument 
against the independence of their opinions, even 
when competent. Nearly all the periodicals are 
strictly commercial in their origin and foundation, 
which commonly influences, directly or indirectly, 
all the writers they engage, or else the writers 
would soon lose their employment. It is the 
purse under cover of the politics, that constitutes 
both main-spring and index. Few of those very 
few who know and wish to say what is right, can 
afford to do so; neither can they afford to be 



* lb. Anxieties of Writers of Taste. 



255 

silent. Hence the periodicals in general, while they , 
seem to lead, only follow public opinion, which is 
a far more profitable proceeding. Two or three, 
however, sell by very virtue of their independence, 
which has all the force of contrast. 

We cannot help often observing, that some 
periodicals, called literary and critical, seldom 
deign to notice, unless as objects of attack, the 
works which proceed from other publishers, who 
have no share as proprietors, or no collateral in- 
terest with them ; while long extracts and eulogies 
are continually inflicted upon the public, when the 
works issue from the sameA quarter as their own 
journal, &c. In the latter case, " the most striking 
passages of a new work are printed on a separate 
sheet of paper, and duly forwarded to the re- 
viewer/*' as a reviewer has pointedly informed us. 
A rival critic, soon after this u expose," accused 
the reviewer of depicting his own proceedings. 
If the former had made the same statement first, 
the other would probably have made the same 
retort. This is amusing. We agree, however, 
with the Beacon, that such things are fair enough 



256 

as a mercantile transaction, we only object to the 
public being influenced by them as literary oracles. 
The critiques on the drama, also, are sometimes 
written by the writers of plays and farces, who cas- 
tigate, or contemptuously dismiss, the productions 
of others, however superior, and applaud their own 
beyond all measure — that of their vanity and interest 
excepted. But the interest of the editor or pro- 
prietors, no matter how obtained, can always pro- 
cure a puff of any calibre, or give an author, 
artist, actor, singer, &c. the liberty of reviewing his 
own works, or performances. This, however in- 
directly, is done almost as commonly as by the 
regular critics. Again, the above writer informs 
us that some of the smaller periodicals, whose pro- 
prietors are not great " in Gath," only review the 
works of those publishers who advertise with them : 
thus the eulogial flight of the critique and length 
of the extracts, is generally proportioned to the 
price of the advertisement. 

Enough of this mercantile question. We shall 
now proceed to show that wrong judgment often 
begins with men of ability, and almost always with 



257 

speculating pretenders and mechanical men, before 
it comes to the critic's turn. 

Of all the principles of human action that tend 
to a remote result, perhaps the most common one 
is that of mistaking the means for the end. How 
fallacious it is to the ardent desire, whether of 
happiness or intellectual power, of excellence in art, 
or importance in science, our limits will only permit 
us partially and briefly to exemplify. 

It is a deeply pathetic picture of erroneous judg- 
ment as to real power, when we see authors who have 
grown grey over some voluminous and erudite work, 
lamenting that all those are dead whom they would 
have felt any pride and gratification in pleasing ; 
and gradually arriving at a painful doubt as to 
there being any use or value in the product of 
their laborious years. How far these reflections 
would lead us, must be sufficiently evident, we 
will therefore confine ourselves to the present 
time. 

And first of the drama and its managers. The 
English are a people of bold energy, and fond of 
excitement, to produce which in them, a very strong 



258 

blow must be made upon the passions and imagi- 
nation. Their internal feelings are powerful, but 
hard to rouse. They hate the insincerity of stage 
plays, and like something forcibly dramatic. They 
are scarcely ever favoured with the latter, and 
drugged nightly with the former, which, in addi- 
tion, is generally sung in a foreign language ! 
This of course would have induced the ruin of 
the theatres, without its being accelerated by pre- 
posterous salaries to " the stars," who cannot draw 
" crowded audiences" of themselves. The empti- 
ness of the theatres is owing to the badness of 
the pieces produced ; to their want of intellect, 
moral point, and satisfactory excitement and 
amusement. This vile choice has commonly been 
the case when intriguing actors have conducted 
the management. They choose pieces for a " coup 
d'oeil," or for " personal display," which, in 
spite of all their puffing, and impudent play- 
bill falsities, as to " overwhelming houses," fail 
in rapid succession, and are then thrown aside, 
with all their " properties,*" to make way for 
others, while the said worthies are feathering 



259 

their nests amidst all the ruin. As to operas, 
grant that the music be as beautiful as possible, 
the public require to see it well applied. It 
ought not to be thrown away upon an ineffective, 
inconclusive piece ; yet almost all ' serious operas' 
have a lame or weak termination, in a dramatic 
point of view. We see an inflated, pit-threatening 
hero become suddenly full of joyance and " bon- 
hommie," evidently for the sake of the " finale," 
to sing in which he, perhaps, sneakingly returns, 
after having been dismissed to banishment or exe- 
cution. The English are a spirited people, and 
require a genuine result. If proper pieces were 
written for them, we have men of genius of our 
own country, who can compose operas, admirable 
as works of science, and far better suited to the 
energy and peculiarity of the British public, than 
almost any foreign pieces that can be selected # . 

* We make the following extract from the letter of an 
excellent English composer, which appeared in the Times : — 

" The present system is not only a check upon the growth 
of native talent, but goes so far as altogether to deprive those 
Composers who have acquired reputation, and who chiefly 
depend upon their dramatic writings,— of a subsistence. 



260 

That the boxes should be filled, is a most im- 
portant object for the interest of the theatres ; and 
they are usually the most empty part of the house. 
It requires something " well worth seeing" to 
make people dine two hours sooner than usual, or 
jump up from table and leave their wine, and 
perhaps the worst of an argument, behind them. 
Few would risk indigestion and a bad play at the 
same time. There is an additional reason that 
prevents many ladies from taking boxes : they know 
that the other boxes are empty. 

How partial and rasping has been the reward 
of Mr. Knowles for setting his shoulder to the 
wheel, to restore the manly style of the old comedy. 



" Let it not be supposed that I am averse to foreign music : 
on the contrary,, no one can be more devoted to it than I am. 
If I admire German and Italian music, I at the same time 
have the interest of our own music at heart. I do not object 
to there being theatres for the performance of German, Italian, 
and French operas; let them have twenty if they can be 
supported ; but let us have one at least for the music of our 
own country. 

" Are we to be driven from our profession, perhaps from 
our homes, by the ill-advised steps of one or two theatrical 
proprietors ? "—J, Barnett, 



261 

Francis the First did not " draw " half so much as 
the Hunchback ; yet Miss Kernble — besides the 
amount gained by the sale of many editions — 
received about 6^800 from the theatre, the greater 
part of which was paid out of the receipts from the 
Hunchback, whose author did not receive more 
than half that sum. Every thing that ought to 
be, is reversed. 

How far the musicians mistake the means for 
the end, we need scarcely mention. The most 
crabbed science, and the greatest difficulties of 
execution, are continually adopted in the place of 
melodies that would strike home to the feelings. 
Mark the inanity of the fashionables, who can 
hardly sit out the morning concerts, with all their 
efforts to look musical ! 

Those individuals, whose very office absolutely 
requires the most judgment, are without any. 
Whenever a fresh piece, be it what it might, was 
brought out at one of the patent theatres, the 
other instantly set every engine at work, and 
strained every nerve to get out the same, or some- 
thing as like it as possible, no matter with what 



262 

inferior means. This is one of the most absurd 
perversities that ever entered the addle-brain of 
ignorance. By such a proceeding, a novelty which 
might have sufficed to fill one house for a time, 
by being divided, filled neither. Only the regular 
playgoers went to see the same piece at both 
houses ; the managers must have discovered that 
the public never do; and still the monopolists 
persisted. By attempting to ruin each other, they 
accelerated their own # . It never once struck 
them, that they ought to give something as opposite 
as possible. Fair rivalry would be the best plan 

for all parties. Messrs. Laporte and Capt. P , 

with Ostensible Manager Bunn, are very far from 
knowing how to profit by experience, and it is not 

* This invidious system, it must be confessed, has some- 
thing in it peculiarly John-Bullish. If a man's house is 
rated too high, instead of endeavouring to get such undue 
taxes reduced, he immediately sets to work to get his 
neighbour's house taxed equally high. In like manner the 
coach proprietors are less anxious about a reduction of their 
heavy taxes, than enraged that steam-engines, which run 
upon their own rail-road, should not be proportionately 
oppressed. Malevolence and the spleenful love of opposition, 
make thousands utterly blind to their own interest. 



263 

likely that any advice from the press will do them 
the least service. They have not imagination to 
conceive originality for themselves, or to com- 
prehend it when placed before them. Managers 
are too old in stupidity, to learn. If the Genius of 
the drama could render innocuous a ten-penny nail ; 
tip it with all the reason in the world, and drive it 
straight through their heads, it would produce no 
better effect than if it perforated a barber's block. 
Bankruptcy is the only thing that can rid us of 
these mountebank, topsy-turvy " clout heads," and 
this acts upon them like the bat upon the cricket 
ball ! 

Let us say a word more about salaries. The 
managers will pay almost any price for a name ; 
and they do it upon a short-sighted principle. It 
is true that the English public carry their respect 
for names to a ridiculous extent, which proves their 
want of a definite judgment in the first instance. 
Their most favourable prejudices are commonly 
open to a verbal precedent. When an original 
performer meets with great and deserved success, 
it is considered that his relations are as closely 



264 

allied to him by genius or talent as by blood *. 
It is of no use to explain, that with the reputation 
identified with a name, a relation, however near, 
can have no more in common than a stranger. 
The public prejudice soon flags, and they then 
judge of the individual by the effect produced 
upon them. If they have been led away by a 
mere prejudice, the reaction is in proportion; if 
they mistook mediocrity for genuine ability, they 
are not long in finding out the error, and their 
neglect follows of course. Meantime, the sage 
managers have engaged the party or parties at a 
high salary, for the whole season, or perhaps for 
several seasons. 

We had intended to say more about " Disap- 
pointed Managers," but it is not necessary. They 
have followed each other to the dangerous patent 
throne, a race of misguided court-cards, who always 
calculate upon the game of many-coloured trick — 
and down the bright meandering vale of Bank- 

* At the Italian Opera we have had the sister of Sontag, 
the brother of Galli, and a family of Taglionis ! Our patent 
theatres adopt the same plan. 



265 

ruptcy they have regularly descended ; which may 
now be fairly imagined to terminate with the " tomb 
of all the Capulets," surrounded by the skeletons 
and blackened corses of defunct fire works ! 

The age is becoming dramatic in spite of all 
opposition. It reminds us of Milton's description 
of the lion issuing from beneath the earth into the 
sun-light. The ground has long been cracked in 
all directions, and we already see his huge head 
and paws. Such is the public craving for u the 
dramatic," that the best novelists have for years 
constructed their works upon that principle. Those 
who have been incompetent to the same efforts, 
and have produced elaborate volumes without a 
high-wrought human interest, have failed propor- 
tionately. Every man of liberal education pos- 
sesses the means of writing ; but what is his end ? 
Whether timely or untimely the inference may be 
the same. The real end of writing is the accom- 
plishment of some great purpose. We have ex- 
pressed our opinion of the lofty powers requisite to 
produce a fine tragedy ; and next to this, we know 
of nothing finer than a tragic novel of the highest 

N 



266 

class. If the former requires far more power, con- 
centration, and impulsive force, the latter should 
manifest an equal truth of passion, and a more 
minute knowledge of nature in working up the 
characters, and moving them forward to the pro- 
gressive result. Perhaps to succeed greatly now, 
a novel must absolutely be a prose tragedy, or a 
tragi-comedy. Be this as it may, it is quite clear 
that the public are thoroughly disgusted with 
fashionable novels of every kind : we do not want 
the " manners of the day," but the passions of all 
times. 

This aphorism leads us to speak of the Fine 
Arts. Modern painters consider the grandeur and 
originality of the artistical design and colouring, as 
the highest excellence. We submit that this is 
rather the means than the end of excellence. The 
coincidence of painting with external forms, as 
illustrative of internal feelings, we should think far 
nearer the truth. This is what the public, col- 
lectively, understand best ; and certainly all those 
individuals who are the most intellectual, and whose 
sympathies are the most acute. While the "few" 



267 

understand only the art of painting, the " many" 
understand only the right end and purpose of it. 

We will mention a little anecdote, which is 
creditable to the Royal Academy. 

An unknown artist about ten years ago, sent a 
very badly painted picture for the Exhibition. The 
committee laughed ; but were struck with a " some- 
thing" in it, and gave it admission. The subject 
was this. It was a queer-coloured landscape, and 
a strange, doldrum figure of a girl was seated upon 
a bank, leaning over a dingy, duck-weed pool. 
Over the stagnant smeary green, lay scattered the 
fragments of a letter that she had torn to pieces, and 
she seemed considering whether she should plump 
herself in, after it. Now, in this case the Acade- 
micians judged by the same feelings that influence 
the public. There was more ' touching ' invention 
in that daub, than in nine-tenths of the best pic- 
tures exhibited these last we do not know how 
many years. The artist is now eminent, though 
he has left the country owing to a domestic cir- 
cumstance. 

Of historical pictures we cannot but remark, that 
n 2 



268 

the last thing the painters in general think of, is 
the correct expression of the faces ; and the sculp- 
tors do not appear to think of it at all. Do not the 
painters consider it important ? do they not know 
that the face is commonly the index of the mind, 
the sensibility, and the capacity of the will — to all 
who can read it ? In this knowledge they ought 
to be better versed than all other classes ; and 
probably no class is so ignorant. Their incessant 
practice is with the features, and they do not con- 
sider the movements of the soul that give them 
animation and meaning. When they attempt the 
best in this way, they commonly fail utterly. They 
are evidently new in the study, and have no in- 
spiration. 

Historical painting seems to be " past and gone ;" 
there are men, however, who could do much to 
bring back its " noble presence," were not their 
worldly circumstances too straitened to admit of 
their making the attempt. Nevertheless, we must 
remark, that very expensive efforts have been mis- 
directed to recover the lost popularity of the arts. 
The question stands thus : either the nobility and 



269 

the wealthy have withdrawn their patronage from 
pictures, and conferred it upon splendid frames ; or 
else the splendid frames are an idle attempt to win 
them back to the pictures. 

The best means of obtaining popularity for 
human efforts of all kinds, is by the production of 
some striking originality. This will almost always 
draw attention to what was before unknown, or 
bring back attention to any thing that has passed 
into neglect. We are here speaking with reference 
to the public, and supposing the originality in 
question to be brought fairly before the general 
tribunal : and there lies the difficulty, 

" The taste of the day," says Hazlitt, " hangs 
like a mill-stone round the neck of all original 
genius that does not conform to established rules 
and models."" This is too true, but it is far more 
the fault of the critics than the public. The critics, 
in every department, ought to be alive to all impor- 
tant novelties, and teach a general appreciation. 
On the contrary, when it is discovered that the 
Public neglect what they do not understand, (which 
is natural enough) the critics then rise and teach 



270 

them to abuse it. One might reasonably start the 
question, as to whether common "fair play" would 
not be of more value to the world than the pro- 
foundest abstract wisdom ? 

The Sciences and Arts do not equally appeal to 
public judgment. The former, more especially, 
require aid to be brought into notice and appre- 
ciation. Is it surprising that such men as Lord 
Bacon should not be much valued in their own day? 
The man who produces a great work that precedes 
his time, must generally have the whole impulse of 
society against him, with all its momentum of ages, 
of prejudices, &c. It is the misfortune, or the 
weakness of the public, not to understand him ; all 
the fault lies with those who do, and remain silent. 
It is the business of every critic to understand 
everything in his own department ; but originality 
is beyond his department ; the difficulty, therefore, 
has to resolve itself by a slow process through 
the aggregate opinions of successive " enlightened 
publics.*" 

Why do not competent men endeavour to recal 
the Arts to a sense of their own dignity and im- 



271 

portance, by advocating the grand walks ? It may 
be argued that real criticisms upon the Fine Arts, 
combining a knowledge of the professional arcana, 
with a philosophical analysis, would not be read 
in daily periodicals ? We think otherwise ; pro- 
vided they were made generally intelligible by the 
absence of all abstruse or technical phraseology. 

In matters of science, and all recondite questions 
of human knowledge, the public are only learners ; 
to the general efforts of genius, however, the public 
feeling is commonly alive and responsive, and the 
permanence of this is the best criterion of merit. 

Nearly every man^s standard of excellence for 
others, is commensurate with the degree possessed 
by himself, whether actually or imaginarily ; and 
this applies both to questions of real power and 
mechanical talents. Let us take a summary view 
in conclusion. 

As the great modern critic upon the Fine Arts 
has said, " that, as a class, the worst judges of 
painting," — meaning the spirituality and imagina- 
tive refinement of it — " are the members of the 
Royal Academy," so we say of the Managers and 



272 

theatrical Committees with respect to acting and 
other performances; and their habitual conduct 
and its results prove the assertion. Like those 
of the Readers for the publishers, their " opinions," 
upon important points, always turn out to be 
wrong, when they venture to give them decidedly, 
but, in general, like their brothers, they have 
no opinion but a certainty. If a new actor or 
singer succeeds greatly, they say, " I thought 
so !"— if he fail utterly, they say " I thought 
so !" They really know nothing about the mat- 
ter. When a performer has succeeded well, and 
got a good salary, then they understand his merit 
but never before. As in the case of all books, 
which contain matter that is generally intel- 
ligible, and can be universally felt, so it is with 
new actors of merit, and able artists. The Public 
are the best judges, because " en masse " they have 
no mechanical or professional standard, but refer to 
their own private feelings, experience of life, and all 
its ordinary passions, and also — which in general is 
of more weight— ^to the excitement of the imagi- 
nation. Touch them in this way, and they under- 



stand it immediately. What the Managers, Com- 
mittees, musical Directors, theatrical Readers, pub- 
lishers' Readers, nay, and Royal Academicians, &c. 
call success, is simply — the approbation of the 
public : and yet they all persist in calculating 
how the public will be affected by what the public 
do not understand ! 



We shall here conclude by pointing to the ad- 
vancing March of Intellect, whose advent is hailed 
with admiration, with gladness, and with sun-ward 
hope ! by all who love to know that mankind are 
bursting the last links of the earth-grinding chain 
of wide-spread despotism, and to behold ignorance 
propelled, like a retiring sea, before a prophetic 
voice ; — bearing upon its surface far away, the 
tossing wrecks of the countless rich insignia 
and cabalistic charters of slavery and intolerant 
selfishness. 

The men who were the first, from time imme- 

n 3 



274 

morial, to commence this mighty work, the pioneers, 
who in successive generations have devoted the 
labours of their life to clear the vast, the dark, 
and dangerous roads for its colossal advance — have 
all been Martyrs to the cause! And are they 
still to be so ? No : the world is at last growing 
wiser for experience, and the time is not far 
distant when men of genius will at least have a 
chance of being able, by the best exercise of their 
abilities, to save themselves and families from 
being starved. The first step to this is the over- 
throw of the barriers and abuses, the supersedence 
of the false medium excluding men of genius from 
the public; and as the present Exposition lays the 
" old offenders" bare and at full length to the in- 
spection of all eyes, we believe they will find it a 
serious risk ever again to flap their buzzard wings 
so high, either upon their own midden or behind the 
skreen. The clock-work of their heads is exposed , 
which, as it palpably tends to their stoppage, is 
much the same as having them chopped off. — " So 
much for oracles V 

Nevertheless, as there may be some of these in- 



275 

dividuals whose perception and sensibility, if they 
ever possessed any, are so thoroughly indurated, 
and whose swaggering impudence and conceit 
render them too ignorant even to know when 
Time, at length unhooded, and urged by the real 
" Taste of the Day," has placed the mill-stone 
round the necks of the marble-grinding millers; 
let such a one, as chosen champion embodying all 
their best, rise up, if possible, as high as his knees, 
and plead against the extermination of his race ! 
— Let him expose his mind and system to the 
above judges, with the public for an umpire. Let 
him put the finishing proof to all we have said, 
Let him summon, marshal, and advance all his 
school logic ; let him pump up and fount aloft all 
his verbal eloquence, in the extreme height and 
purpose of his most impassioned powers ! Let us 
hear the last news from Lilliput ! 



276 



THE REMEDY. 

Geological, Zoological, Phrenological, Astro- 
nomical, Botanical, Horticultural, Geographical, 
Asiatic, Antiquarian, Royal, Philharmonic, Phil- 
anthropic, &c, &c. These societies and institutions 
are excellent and laudable; but Shakspeare, the 
outlaw, was worth them all. 

While we entertain a due respect for institutions 
of the various branches of science and other de- 
partments of knowledge, we are by no means sure 
whether it might not be maintained that the in- 
fluence of any one man of pre-eminent genius, 
upon society and the world at large, is of still 
greater importance and moment; and that if his 
genius takes the best direction, — that of delineating 



277 

the highest examples, and advocating the highest 
purposes of humanity, — it is of far greater value. 
Grant that few men of genius are a fraction of 
what Shakspeare was, all men of genius are likely 
to come near the whole, and in many great political 
points, very much to exceed him. If Bentham or 
Gothe had devoted their powers entirely to che- 
mistry, or to all the sciences, science might have 
been highly benefited; but would their influence 
have been half so advantageous to the best in- 
terests of humanity ? If Burns had been the 
greatest botanist of his time, Hazlitt the greatest 
astronomer, or Scott, (the most popular of all 
writers) an indefatigable geologist, would any of 
them have conferred so much pleasure and profit 
upon human nature ? This argument, however, 
we shall not pursue; we will merely say, and 
without fear of even a sophistical contradiction, 
that men of genius are entitled to an equal con- 
sideration with men of every other class and grade 
of intellect. But a man of genius is not treated 
with equal consideration ; he is treated with less — 
or rather without any. Away with your mockery 



278 

stone in Westminster Abbey ! — away with your 
anniversary dinners and memorial speeches over 
the bottle ! Think of " the man " before he is 
screwed down ! 

A man of genius has to work up his very doubt- 
ful way without any encouragement but hope ; all 
circumstances commonly rise at every fresh step he 
takes, to discourage, oppress, or crush him. This 
is fatally true ; look at the past!. Though in a 
modified degree, it is true at present. The chief 
obstacle now, as heretofore, is that of getting a fair 
hearing with the public, and fair play with the 
periodicals ; but the former reason is of far greater 
moment at present, though the latter was almost 
66 omnipotent in evil" a few years ago. Some of 
the periodicals are now as liberal as criticism can 
ever become. The prodigality of public favour 
recently heaped upon a few isolated examples, is 
no argument against the difficulties of rising authors: 
on the contrary ; the chairs were full : he who rises 
must bring his own seat with him. It only proved 
the accumulated force of public craving. But the 
world is wide enough for all; and our hungering 



279 

for excitement, originality and power, is insatiable. 
The press of circumstances, however, is against the 
possessors, which only a very few surmount by un- 
conquerable perseverance, or else chance supersedes 
it for them by some lucky contingency. 

The March of Intellect is a glorious advent, 
upon which the world gaze with admiration : we 
hope it will at last think of doing something for 
itself! 

Societies are formed to discover or preserve 
stones, minerals, shells, flowers, fruits, or any 
anomalous creature with strange legs, tail, or 
horns: there is nothing of the kind for men of the 
highest ability. He who discovers some rare stone, 
or property of it hitherto unknown, or a new salt, 
gains a degree of importance and respect : — to what 
institution is a man of genius, who is discovered in 
obscurity and want, to be referred — except his 
parish ? A wonderful fig in opposition to a living 
Homer, and what chance has he ? — A pippin — and a 
Paradise Lost is answered with its own argument : 
a world of thought to an empty shell, and the vast 
ideal is put aside for the paltry tangible; not 



280 

weighed but wanting ? The noblest hearts are 
broken, while the wealthy empty their purses in 
patronage of premature peas and strawberries ! A 
man writes a fine tragedy ; but will it produce a fourth 
part of the value of a full grown lion ? An heroic 
poem, as full of fearful matter as the Trojan horse, 
would cut but a sorry figure against the definite 
importance of a turgid prize ox ; and as to a 
powerful novel, or any other MS. work of genius, 
how very different, in a worldly sense, should we 
feel, if instead of that, we were the happy possessor 
of a snuffy mummy of one of the Pharaohs ! 
Living power has a sadly vague chance against a 
thing which, in comparison, is literally only fit to 
be " sneezed at," — sic transit gloria mundi ! 

There is no piece of inert matter so common, but 
it possesses more definite conventional claims than 
the highest efforts of human intellect. So much 
for a lump of ivory or log- wood ; a large looking- 
glass, or a prison gate ; a gas-pipe or a post : so much 
for a mere stone ; though, by the by, there is no 
chance of its asserting its independence. If, again, 
it be unfortunately true that a man of genius is 



281 

not a curious bird or shell-fish, is that a sound 
reason for his neglect and exclusion ? — the idea is 
enough to provoke any philosopher, not made on 
purpose, to " deal out damns for trumps," against 
ornithology, conchology, and all the family of the 
terminologies, &c. Real genius holds all those 
thtngs as in the hollow of its hand ; and is a 
knowledge of the details and technicalities, to be 
considered as the fine pitch of excellence ? Grant 
that he does know all these minutiae, in addition to 
the greatest original knowledge upon the subject ; 
he does not any the more belong to the Society : 
he is no rare bird or shell — he is only a man ! 

We have a society for the Suppression of Vice ; 
but without putting any troublesome questions as 
to what good its immaculate members have effected, 
we would merely ask whether the highest purposes 
of humanity would not have been better answered, 
if they had formed instead of it, a Society for the 
Encouragement of Virtue? Perhaps they may 
regard the idea as a jest, and ask with Pilate, 
< what is truth, what is virtue ? how are we to dis- 
cover and judge of it ?' They considered them- 



282 

selves very competent it would seem, as to the 
opposite qualities ? 

We have an Animals' Friend Society. 

The Literary Association was defunct long 
since, and it might as well have never been esta- 
blished, for we do not find that it did any good. 

The Literary Fund is a society of long standing, 
considerable pretensions, and high patronage. The 
public are taught to admire and applaud it. Upon 
what grounds? Has its bounty ever enabled a 
man to bring forth a fine tragedy, epic, history, 
novel, or work of science ? How many men of 
genius has it relieved from distress ? To speak of 
the good it effects, there is, at best, no permanent 
advantage to be derived from it*. 

The Athenaeum and the Literary Union, were 
founded on more enlarged views. What good have 
they effected? But admitting, out of courtesy, 
that any of these institutions are ready at all times 
to take into consideration every work of genuine 

* Fifty pounds, we believe, were recently given to a 
distressed man of genius with a large family, Mr. L. H . 



283 

power and originality that may be sent for their 
consideration ; no matter from how obscure an in- 
dividual ; by virtue of what qualities are those who 
are appointed to be the judges, elected? Intel- 
lectual capabilities cannot, we presume, be given 
with the office, be the party of what rank or in- 
terest soever ? 

We fear we shall have to class all these societies 
with the city barge and Lord Mayor's coach, which 
are imposingly brought forth at stated intervals, to 
excite the admiration of the public, but from which 
nobody of genuine ability and " out of employ" 
ever derives any advantage beyond the ride of the 
day. 

The " Literary Union" was first established for 
the protection of authors of merit from the rapacity, 
intolerance, or trade cabal of publishers ; and what 
admirable works and superior men have its mem- 
bers introduced to the public ? What have they 
been about all this while? — taking their wine. 
How has all this disinterested love ended? — in 
mock turtle ! As a ship is christened by a flatter- 
ing name, or a tavern characterised by a vain- 



284 

glorious sign, so is the " Literary Union;" which 
is only a term of polite letters for a comfortable 
dining club, with all its luxuries and conveniences. 
It is a branch eating-house from the Athenaeum. 
The very literary conversation at table, is com- 
mensurate with their generous purposes. 

One of the best societies ever established, in the 
conduct of which a general principle of honourable 
dealing is exercised with the fewest abuses, is the 
Society of Arts. At all events, such was the case 
some years ago, when we had an intimate op- 
portunity of ascertaining, and we have no reason to 
suppose that its fair and excellent practices have 
deteriorated. But it does not profess to have any- 
thing to do with authors ; and in arts, manufactures, 
and commerce, (omitting the consideration of 
amateurs and individuals of opulence) it must 
be readily seen that the reward of a medal or 
small bounty, cannot be a sufficient recompense, 
or advantageous gain and advancement, to those 
who are in necessitous circumstances. In award- 
ing these, the society certainly fairly fulfil their 
promises ; still, the benefit derived includes nothing 



285 

permanent, nor leads to it, and this is what we 
would more especially desire. 

Who does not respect and admire the purposes 
and results of the Humane Society ? but is it not 
a hard case, that the men most worthy of pre- 
servation are left to their fate as exceptions. If 
they are not literally drowned, they are immersed 
and overwhelmed by the tide of adverse circum- 
stances ; and we have seen some of them morally 
stoned to death. The Society for the Diffusion of 
Useful Knowledge may be admirable in itself, and 
the Penny Magazine rightfully deserving of its ex- 
traordinary and unprecedented popular patronage : 
what definite advantage is this to the possessors 
of knowledge ? In like manner we may say of the 
Universities, that whenever they turn out (not 
meaning a pun) a man of superior abilities, how 
seldom is any provision made for him commen- 
surate with such abilities, in comparison with his 
inferiors, men of rank or patronage*; how seldom 

* " Though a hundred a year, given for the encourage- 
ment of science, is but as a drop in the ocean, when com- 



286 

is any provision made at all. We abound in esta- 
blishments for all kinds of acquirement ; we have 
not one to ensure its fair exercise and reward. 

We have now spoken with freedom of the in- 
stitutions of science and learning, and as some may 
think, with acrimony. If it appear so, such was 
not our meaning. We repeat, and request it may 
be rightly understood, that in all we have said of 
public institutions and the various scientific societies, 
we are far from intending anything offensive or dis- 
respectful to them, in themselves ; it is only by com- 



pared with the enormous sums lavished in unmerited pen- 
sions, lucrative sinecure places, and scandalous jobs, by every 
minister on his flatterers and dependents, in order to secure 
his majorities in parliament, yet I obtained this drop with 
difficulty, and unless the voice of a member of parliament 
had seconded my petition, I doubt whether I should have 
succeeded." 

Such was the treatment experienced by the amiable 
Richard Watson, afterwards Bishop of Llandaff, when pro- 
fessor of chemistry at the university. No salary was attached 
to the situation ; he was poor, yet a man of acknowledged 
great ability, too really pious to be a bigot, too really learned 
to be a pedant. Read Life and Anecdotes of Richard 
Watson, 



287 

parison with their high and popular patronage, that 
we feel indignant at the one great exception. 

What we would advocate, then, is the establish- 
ment of a Society of English Literature and Art, 
&c. for the encouragement and permanent support 
of men of superior ability in all departments of 
human genius and knowledge ; and that this should 
be carried progressively onwards till enabled by 
its funds to erect itself into a regular final college, 
as a rightful place of reference and natural result 
for all the other colleges, or rather, to speak com- 
prehensively, and more consistently, for all supe- 
rior EFFORTS OF HUMAN FACULTIES. 

Peradventure we shall be told that this idea is 
somewhat Utopian: there are many persons who 
cannot see a thing till it is done, and fixed : that, 
' however well such an establishment might an- 
swer at first, it would gradually, in the due course 
of human frailty, become subject to all the same 
abuses as those we have previously named ? ' No 
doubt but it would ; — we fancy ourselves looking 
out of the grave a few years hence and seeing 
it; — we feel posthumously wise as to the end of 



288 

all such vain hopes ! But then, this is supposing 
the establishment to be founded upon the old system, 
which is very opposite to what we advocate * . 

How are its professors, or judges and umpires 
to be chosen ? By wealth, rank, influence, pa- 
tronage ; by the strong interest of some literary or 
scientific fseciniae uvse ? Certainly not : but by 
their capability, proved by their having themselves 
produced the best works of the kind in the given 
department. 

Now, admitting that this arrangement may still 
be subject to the influence of private vanity, self- 
importance, jealous pique, or interest; well, let 
us reduce it to that, Half the old established 
objections and difficulties thus perishes; we mean 



* Since writing the present volume, we have been gra- 
tified to perceive ourselves not solitary in our definite feeling 
upon this subject. In the New Monthly for March 1st, is the 
first sketch of a " New Literary Association/' and we think 
the plan excellent, and quite practicable, and wish it the utmost 
success. It only, however, includes those authors who are 
already, and have for some time been, in the annual receipt of 
literary incomes, varying perhaps from 500/. to 800Z., and 
does not touch the principle we start upon. 



289 

the incompetency. It is quite time that genius 
turned the tables upon ignorance. The greater 
part, if not the whole, of the former objections 
would, however, be superseded by the necessary 
circumstance of there being no < gowned ' tyrant, 
from whose verdict there was no appeal ; but several 
fit judges in each department, besides umpires, all 
of whose names would be known, so that nothing 
could be done in the dark. Nay, a man of ability 
should have the right of appealing to the whole 
society, upon any great occasion, if he objected to 
its decision, and be permitted to argue the question 
in full conclave. Moreover, if his claim was a 
high one, he should have the right of printing his 
defence at the expense of the society. 

Does this idea look Utopian now ? — c Very much 
so/ it may be answered ; 6 quite impracticable — 
men of genius have not been hoaxed and starved 
long enough ! ' 

But as to the competency of our censors or 
professors — unbigoted to any modern system, or 
hardened in the vain pedantry of Aristotle—let us 
candidly ask, who could be so fit to understand 



290 

and decide upon an epic, as the man who had 
written one of admitted power? — the same of a 
great tragedy, or a fine heroic poem, a novel, a 
comedy, an opera; and who so fit to judge of the 
merits of a farce, as one who had written " Broad 
Grins," and " More Broad Grins ?" Of course it 
would be^the height of absurdity, because a con- 
tradiction in nature, to suppose a man could judge 
of the loftiest impassioned power, by virtue of the 
cleverest nonsense ! And thus, every professor 
keeping his proper place, all .the other depart- 
ments, as history, moral philosophy, science, 
classics, all the fine arts, mechanics, &c, would 
have their competent judges. 

The permanent advantage to be derived by 
those whose claims are recognised by the establish- 
ment, should be realised by annuities for life, from 
three hundred pounds downwards. Why should 
we still endure the bitterly true jest of the saying, 
that " England is the place for a man of genius to 
die in ; France for him to live in ?" 

We shall here beg it distinctly to be understood, 
though we think it must be apparent from the 



291 

general tenor of our pages, that we are not ad- 
vocating the cause of scribblers, who ought to 
follow more congenial trades ; of sign-painters and 
marble wig-makers ; of pilfering composers and 
mechanical actors ; of charlatan mechanics ; of pe- 
dants in science; of stupid men of mere learning ; 
or of gentlemen who write novels and poems for 
which they ought to be hung. Genius, in its 
higher walks and temples, is not to be confounded 
with the beggars in the vestibule. Ours is the 
cause of those men who possess original powers in 
the application of profound knowledge. 

But let us consider the funds required for this 
long-protracted rationality. Say, for instance, a 
man produces a fine epic, and receives three 
hundred per annum for life. It may be asked, in 
the language of trade, c What ! is he then to sit 
himself down quietly for the remainder of his 
life, and do nothing for his money ? ' Certainly : 
he has done enough : would you have a man write 
epics, and keep him at it, like a wheelwright with 
a government order ? The same may be said of 
a great work of science or history. Be it also re- 

o 2 



292 

membered, that a man has probably passed the 
chief part of his life before he is able to produce 
such a work, independent of the labour of the 
actual composition. It must be clearly seen that 
there will be no danger of the fund being drawn 
upon by a multiplicity of these high claimants. 
Scarcely a sufficient number would be found, 
even including tragic authors, to constitute the 
requisite professors in those departments. 

Again, the producer of a powerful tragedy would 
only be entitled to an annuity of one hundred 
pounds; not that we do not consider such a tra- 
gedy as great an effort of human genius as the 
finest epic, but because there is a manifest difference 
in the time and labour employed, and also that a 
tragic author thus brought with his due honours 
before the public, would have a great chance of 
emolument from the stage, whose gradual improve- 
ment would be a necessary consequence. As, 
however, it by no means follows that a man capable 
of embodying one, or, perhaps, two great ques- 
tions of passion, should be able to continue such 
efforts ; this comparative requisition for him 



293 

to prosecute similar labours would probably be 
superseded by the difference of salaries among the 
professors — as most of the producers of the greatest 
works of all kinds would be professors, and ought 
to be, or our end is not perfectly answered. Thus, 
the salary of a professor in the epic department 
would be very small in profit, though high in 
honour, and ought not to be one half so much as 
that of a professor in the tragic department ; nor 
would his be equal to that of the individual who 
was one of those appointed to judge of dramas in 
general, and who would consequently have far 
more occupation, except only this difference was 
equalised by a commensurate number : and thus 
with all the rest. All the salaries would be small, 
not exceeding in any department one hundred 
and fifty pounds per annum. The duties should-, 
however, be equalised as much as possible, either 
by distribution, or a higher salary; and thus, 
with the addition of their annuity, gained by virtue 
of their work, a sufficient competency would be 
ensured to the first men of the time in all classes 
of human ability. 



294 

No one would be eligible to the annuity, or 
salary, whose circumstances were already good ; 
but if his claim to a professorship was admitted, he 
would of course possess the same rights of judging 
and voting as the others, together with an honorary 
medal. A professor should be elected in the first 
instance by the general suffrages of all authors 
in the given department, subject to a public defence 
in person, if he contested the decision. In all 
cases, the primary step is the greatest difficulty, but 
the possible broil thus induced among a few of the 
minor applicants, would soon be terminated by fair 
hearing and open dealing, the want of which is 
the chief cause of prolonged differences. All 
canvassing, however, to be considered as disho- 
nourable, and if discovered, as it probably would 
be, to negative the applicant's claim. 

Now we do not need to be told, after the lan- 
guage of the lachrymose philosophy, that ' after 
all is done, such an establishment must in the 
natural course of things, be subject eventually to 
imperfections and abuses.' No better answer to this 
occurs to us at the moment, than to say, ' Show us a 



295 

perfect man, and then we will show you a perfect 
society : or rather, bring us a perfect man and 
woman, and let us do our best to preserve the 
breed.* 5 Such an Establishment as we advocate, 
would have this manifest advantage; viz. that 
nearly all the superior men in the country who 
are in difficult circumstances, would have a 
provision for life; and those who are by any 
contingency excluded, would only be as excep- 
tions. The exceptions are all the other way at 
present, and have ever been so. If the above 
establishment must, in the natural, or unnatural, 
course of things, degenerate so far, that the number 
of exceptions shall exceed that of the beneficial 
examples, why then it will cease to be the estab- 
lishment we advocate ; and it will be high time for 
somebody to write a similar book to ours, with 
a view to the commencement of a fresh one upon 
the true principles of the original foundation. But 
if each revolving establishment only shone full for 
half a century, the object is well worth attaining. 

With regard to the funds required, we sincerely 
believe that as a commencement, the sum of 



296 

15,000/. per annum would amply suffice to carry 
the best purposes of the Establishment into effect *; 
by ensuring a comfortable maintenance to thirty of 
the greatest men of the time, from annuities and 
salaries ; by giving independence or encouragement, 
as the case might deserve, in annuities and rewards 
to upwards of one hundred others ; while, at the 
same time, every distressed individual in the 
country who possessed superior abilities, would be 
stimulated to do his utmost, in the conviction of 
obtaining a fair hearing, and with the honest chance 
of receiving permanent support, or temporary 
assistance according to his merits, and an intro- 
duction to the public. 

Thus: annual expenses of house and house- 
establishment, 1200/. (no public dinners at the 
expense of the fund); thirty Professors'' salaries, 
averaged each at one hundred per annum, 3,000/. ; 
annuities to thirty Professors, averaged also at one 
hundred each, 3,000/.: annuities to sixty others, 

* A gentleman has been throwing away 10,000/. per annum 
in helping intriguing actors to ruin the drama. It seems he 
is now got into a ( train ' for losing double that sum. 



297 

claimed by virtue of their approved works, averaged 
at 751. each, but varying probably from 1501. to 
9.51. per annum, 4500Z. ; premiums and rewards, 
annually 1500Z. ; salary to secretary, 150/. ; amanu- 
ensis, 501. ; two surgeons, who are to attend all 
annuitants resident in the metropolis, 150/. each ; 
sundries, to be well accounted for, such as books of 
reference, medals, &c, 500/. No valuable libraries 
to be purchased, the establishment being expressly 
founded for the natural support of living authors, 
and all men of genius and ability who write valuable 
books, or produce valuable* matter of any kind. 

We have now enumerated all the important 
expenses, and it will be found that the estimate is 
under the sum previously mentioned. 

It must be readily seen, that this is only a first 
sketch, and that our limits render it impossible to 
enter at present into any systematic details. We 
must, therefore, request liberality, and some allow- 
ances, in thus submitting it to the public in so 
crude a form. 

While we have witnessed the busy quietism with 
which Government, especiallyduring the last reign, 
o3 



298 

squandered its resources in enormous salaries, sine- 
cures, and pensions, to individuals of no capability 
or merit, or having any claim whatever upon the 
public; suffering at the same time, men of real 
ability to live and die as they might, and never 
adding any of those extraordinary results of labo- 
rious and talented lives, to the scientific and philo- 
sophical institutions of the country * ; we cannot 
feel in the least surprised that such an Establish- 



* How greatly would the value of the British Museum 
have been enhanced by the addition of Belzoni's Tomb; 
Bullock's Exhibition of Ancient and Modern Mexico; and 
the extraordinary Museum of the late— and we may add, 
broken-hearted, Mr. Brooks. Belzoni's circumstances com- 
pelled him to travel again in search of fresh wonders to 
gratify the curiosity and thirst of knowledge in mankind ; 
and his widow, we believe, is now in distress ! Mr. Bullock, 
with ' whom we were personally acquainted in Mexico, has 
probably met a similar fate. His son, the modeller and 
painter of the entire exbibition, died long since of the yellow 
fever ; and his father, disappointed in his prospects, travelled 
to Cincinnati. His speculations failed there, and during the 
last three years he has never been heard of. A man may 
encounter every danger, and yet return safe ; he may escape 
death a thousand times, but he can never escape from the 
world's ingratitude. 



299 

ment as this should never have been founded. 
But now that it might have some chance of being 
favourably considered by both houses of parliament, 
we cannot but think the rapid increase of general 
knowledge will better conduce to a fit consumma- 
tion through the medium of Public Patronage, 
than if it were founded by the hand of Government. 
The funds are not only likely to be raised with 
less delay, but such means would also be less liable 
to interfere with the right end and independence 
of the Establishment, through the undue influ- 
ence of private patronage and court interest. 

But there is one point upon which the support of 
Government is an important desideratum: we mean 
the legal protection of literary property without 
any limit, or with a very prolonged one, as to copy- 
right. This would do much to obviate " the en- 
tailed miseries which form an author's sole legacies 
to his wife and children." " The daughter of 
Milton need not have excited the alms of the 
admirers of her father, if the right of authors had 
been properly protected ; his own Paradise Lost 
had then been her better portion, and her most 



300 

honourable inheritance *. The children of Burns 
would have required no subscriptions ; " (while 
anniversary admirers are eating dinners at his 
memory !) " that annual tribute which the public 
pay to the genius of their parent, was their due, 
and would have been their fortune. It is the sug- 
gestion of a learned friend, that authors ought to 
have some portion of the profit of every edition 
secured to them by law." It is thus in France 
with regard to the descendants of Corneille and 
Moliere -f*. 



* " Tonson, and all his family and assignees, rode in their 
carriages, with the profits of the five pound epic ! The elder 
Tonson's portrait represents him in his gown and cap, holding 
in his right hand a volume lettered ' Paradise Lost/ such a 
favourite object was Milton and copyright ! "—Calamities of 
Authors, vol. i. We look upon this as a mean and malig- 
nant assumption of superiority. He was the real Milton- 
he had got all the money ! Tonson and his nephew died 
worth 200,000/. 

t We extract these forcible examples, introduced in a note 
to the same work. 

" The following facts will show the value of Literary Pro- 
perty; immense profits and cheap purchases! The manu- 
script of Robinson Crusoe ran through the whole trade, and 
no one would print it, the bookseller, who, it is said, was not 



801 

D'Israeli proposes as " a project to provide 
against the worst state of poverty among literary 
men," that authors should turn booksellers and 
publishers of the works that belong to their own 



remarkable for his discernment, but for a speculative turn, 
bought the work, and got a thousand guineas by it. How 
many have the booksellers since accumulated? Burn's Justice 
was disposed of by its author for a trifle, as well as Buchan's 
Domestic Medicine; these works yield annual incomes. 
Goldsmith's Vicar of Wakefield was sold in the hour of 
distress, with little distinction from any other work in that 
class of composition ; and Evelina produced five guineas from 
the niggardly trader. Dr. Johnson fixed the price of his 
Biography of the Poets at two hundred guineas ; and Mr. 
Malone observes, the booksellers in the course of twenty-five 
years have probably got five thousand. I could add a great 
number of facts of this nature which relate to living writers ; 
the profits of their own works for two or three years would 
rescue them from the horrors and humiliation of pauperism ! 
It is, perhaps, useful to record, that while the compositions of 
genius are but slightly remunerated, though sometimes as 
productive as c the household stuff' of literature, the latter is 
rewarded with princely magnificence. At the sale of the 
Robinsons, the copy-right of " Vyse's Spelling Book" was 
sold at the enormous price of 2,200/,, with an annuity of 
fifty guineas to the author ! A Spaniard, kissing the hands 
of Mr. Vyse, would wish him a thousand years for this 
annuity ! But can we avoid recollecting, that many a fine 
genius is darning his own stockings." 



302 

department ; upon the grounds that " the gene- 
rality of the publishers of books, unlike all other 
tradesmen, are often the worst judges of their own 
wares." This is an admirable idea, and the public 
would be highly benefited by such a change in the 
dynasty of literature ; we fear, however, there is 
one material objection to its practicability : — the 
want of capital. A spirited and able author (Mr. 
Ritchie) has nevertheless commenced something 
of the kind, and we believe he has met with 
considerable success. We trust this will increase. 
It is a noble undertaking, and deserves the thanks 
of every friend to neglected merit. 

But we would have a proper home for men of 
genius ; one that should be organised upon solid 
principles. The advantageous effect of such an 
Establishment would be powerfully felt from the 
metropolis to every remote corner of England ; and 
in proportion to her influence, over the whole moral 
world. It would be giving a conventional and 
permanent centre of gravity to the efforts of all 
men of pre-eminent ability, who have not hitherto 
had any beyond their own self-reliance in painful 



303 

perseverance and fortitude. Where they have been 
without these high qualities in addition to their 
others, a wild and wretched course has been the 
natural consequence — but a speedy termination. 
It would be to the workings of intellect what the 
regulating weights are to the horologe : it would 
turn aside the errating sithe of Time, by giving 
him a planetary motion, instead of that of a deso- 
lating and precarious comet; it would give to Hope 
a more stable face of truth, for it has ever been 
the illusive Janus of all men of genius. 

The influence of such an Establishment would act 
with due and resistless power upon all other insti- 
tutions and societies in the country, beginning from 
the first day of its proper foundation. Its bene- 
ficial results would be practically manifested in the 
most important directions before it had completed 
its first anniversary. The Publishers would be 
compelled, in their own defence, to bring out the 
finest works they could obtain, in preference to 
their present unsuccessful endeavours to produce 
novelties in trash. To this end they would be 
obliged to engage competent Readers ; men, who 



304 

had themselves done something important : or they 
might send their manuscripts to the above estab- 
lishment, to be proved, as medicines and metals are 
to Apothecaries' and Goldsmiths'* Halls. The result 
would be advantageous to all parties. With regard 
to the theatres ; fine tragedies and comedies at the 
potent and honest call of the new Establishment, 
would spring to light, and prove the ridiculous 
error of supposing that dramatic genius is extinct 
among us. The managers would soon find the 
advantage of adopting them in the place of dia- 
bleries and spectacles ! But they need not now 
trouble themselves to see their many blunders: 
the withdrawal of the monopoly, and the legal 
protection of dramatic property, will have more 
effect than any common sense that we can in- 
troduce to their besotted minds. The cessation 
of the monopoly — abused to a degree even as a 
monopoly, like the old story of the dog in the 
manger — followed by the influence of such an 
establishment as we propose, would give a great 
opening and fair introduction to new actors and 
actresses of ability in all theatrical departments, as 



305 

also to Composers; and a very short time would 
serve to show whether the managerial system has 
been a false and fraudulent one, or that there is 
abundance of unemployed merit in the country *. 
The benefit to the Fine Arts from the establish- 
ment, w r ould be very great, because it would fairly 
bring forward the claims of any unknown artist of 
genius whose productions are hung to his de- 
struction in the Royal Academy ; while if any 
isolated gentleman of the press, or private indivi- 
dual, happen to single them out for admiration, 
he is superciliously accused of " seeing the matter 
in a wrong light,"" by the great men, whose influ- 
ence, direct or indirect, had so placed them, and 
whose own paintings being seen in the " right 
light,"" are not much better off. 

* We see one reason why the monopoly might be per- 
mitted to remain— provided the Minor Theatres were granted 
a corresponding one; viz. the exclusive right of performing 
Operas, Melo-dramas, Farces, Shows, &c. for first pieces. 
The great theatres would then be compelled to maintain 
legitimate tragedy and comedy, and represent them properly. 
In any case, the managers would soon find their account 
in adopting the pieces that had been tried and approved 
by the above Establishment. 



306 

The advantage of the establishment to Science, 
in its highest branches, would be great, for similar 
reasons ; viz. the due and immediate consideration 
of all original discoveries, inventions, &c. by com- 
petent judges, and a reward more beneficial than 
the mere admission of the fact, or an honorary 
token. 

We repeat that one twelvemonth would fully 
suffice to prove which is right ; the old system of 
conduct adopted by the public and its false mediums 
towards all men of genius, or the principles advo- 
cated in the foregoing pages. The question is 
now left between those who approve or tolerate 
the former, and those who sympathise with the 
writer. 



EXHORTATION. 



We have given our opinion, with its grounds 
that an Establishment for the permanent support 
and encouragement of all men of genius and supe- 
rior ability, would attain its ends in the best and 



307 

readiest manner by being solely indebted to the 
liberality of public patronage. We have shown 
that the funds required for the undertaking are 
comparatively trifling; the generosity well-placed 
and far-spreading. Will it be looked upon as a 
tax ? We have borne others much greater, though 
of rather less general benefit, with centuries of 
patience, and are contented to do so still. Slaves 
are emancipated at enormous cost ; vast sums are 
expended in Polar expeditions ; and in building an 
hundred and fifty new churches and chapels. Our 
requisition is not unreasonable? While, however, 
we should prefer founding and carrying on the 
above purpose by universal suffrages, we should 
not be the less pleased to see it countenanced by 
some token from government. We see five hun- 
dred or a thousand pounds offered as a reward for 
the apprehension of a murderer, and approve it. 
We know that this is good, in a political view, 
though the individual who is destroyed may not be 
important; would it not however be a somewhat 
better thing to give a moderate sum towards saving- 
all men who are of importance, from the mortal 



308 

hand of Calamity ? Are we for ever to insist that 
there are no such men, so long as they remain un- 
known, and under the still greater draw-back to 
sympathy — alive ! Such an establishment would be, 
with submission — a nobler thing to advance than 
squandering thousands in race horses — yourself per- 
chance afflicted with the gout — or losing parks and 
woods at the gaming table ? Even a ' theatrical 
hobby' is too dear a purchase at 30,000/., with com- 
mon sense thrown into the bargain. Might not 
something be spared to good purpose out of the 
enormous fortunes that are prodigally sunk in 
canals, rail-roads, ornamental structures, and " brick 
and mortar " buildings of all kinds ? It would be 
of far more use than building a National Gallery, 
much as we need such a repository. It would be 
a better thing than securing Abbotsford to the 
relatives and descendants of Sir Walter Scott. 
This is doing justice " in the lump " to the 
memory of one, to the usual exclusion of all who 
are living. It is not good as a principle : in an 
intellectual sense, such men as Mr. Godwin, Mr. 
Lambe, Mr. Banim, and the spirits of the age, 



309 

now and to come, are nearer relatives (palmam qui 
meruit ferat) to Scott than any others, unless we 
make the single exception of Mr. Lockhart; and 
the world's gratitude and consideration would, we 
think, be more consistently shown by adopting a 
different measure. But as a principle, the noblest 
act of his present Majesty's reign, was his ordering 
a full-appointed yacht to sail along the sunny 
shores of the Mediterranean, expressly for the 
recovery of Sir Walter's health ! 

We confess we can see no permanent remedy 
for the disastrous worldly circumstances of all men 
of superior ability, but in the formation of an 
Establishment expressly conducive to that end. The 
disinterested generosity of a few individuals of fine 
feeling, who enter into a subscription for any one 
of the above unfortunates, damned with a genius 
that adorns the world, does not suffice. It gives 
no permanence to comfort, no steady foundation, 
however small, to support the body and all its 
domestic contingencies, while the free mind works 
unalloyed, and imperturbed by gigantic common- 
places and fears. Besides, a subscription is, in 



310 

almost all cases, a painful, galling humiliation to 
the feelings of the individual ; though it rebounds 
in fact, upon the heartless, old-established system 
of ignorance, neglect, selfishness, ingratitude, and 
meanness, and there remains upon the forehead of 
that " great baby, the World," like an eternal 
brand ! 

The intellectual, the magnanimous, the humane 
Bentivoglio, when reduced to the utmost distress, 
was refused admission into the very hospital he had 
himself erected ! Is there no shame in mankind ? 
It seems to us as though it had only happened 
yesterday. What tacit cruelties are at this moment 
being perpetrated by the world upon their noblest 
ornaments ! Let us exhort the influential men of 
the present time, to exert themselves to the utmost 
in the cause of suffering genius ! 

We wish to see an Establishment upon which a 
man of fine faculties and attainments shall have a 
rightful claim, by virtue of his works ; by which he 
may challenge the judgment of his peers, and 
obtain a permanent encouragement according to 
his measure ; by which he may have some hold- 



311 

fast upon time, in order that he may gaze with his 
utmost steadiness and strength upon the bourne of 
immortality. For the primary raising and subse- 
quent continuation of the funds required for the 
undertaking, we must rely upon the convictions 
and best feelings of mankind ; in short, upon the 
sympathy of the Public with the matter contained 
in the present volume. If we fail in exciting this, 
it is far more a misfortune than a fault : though we 
have not done sufficient justice to the cause, we have 
done our best. In a work that treats of so many 
subjects — all the highest we may say — a writer of 
acknowledged powers might well be excused if his 
opinions were not considered rock-rooted upon all 
points. A similar indulgence cannot so properly be 
granted for inadvertencies of composition. This 
latter reflection makes us regret a too executive 
hand (to speak mechanically) and that a very few 
months only have been devoted to a task that 
ought to have received the attention of years— had 
not the imperative call of " the abused time " been 
too strong to permit further delay. We do not of 
course offer this in apology for any opinions, or the- 



312 

ories contained in the volume, which, in its essential 
matter, is the product of a long life. As to minor 
inaccuracies, it is probable that we know more of 
our imperfections than the Schorodomachi can tell 
us, though we beg to say, that the supposition is not 
meant as a challenge to their industry. We bow 
only to intelligent men of candour, who are generally 
the best judges, and shall be content to abide by 
their award. 

In our exhortations for the generous support of 
a highly advantageous, practical theory, we appeal ; 
not to the pity, commiseration, or sentiment of 
men— let them retain those passing sensibilities for 
their own appropriation or private satisfaction — 
but to the noblest passions and active affections of 
human nature. 

To the sentimentalist, we would fain address a 
few passing words. 

We, who are now reaping the benefit and plea- 
sure of the great works of those men, long since 
mouldered in the grave, "of whom the world was 
not worthy," feel grief, indignation, and even, by 
our common natures, a remorse, for the ingratitude, 



313 

cruelty, or heartlesss neglect of past generations who 
were their contemporaries. We may judge of the 
opinion of future times as to our conduct ! There 
have been, and are still, abundant instances for 
the full weight of posterity^ reproach against us. 
In after-years the world, as usual, means to be 
astonished ! — but then, each of us feel only as indi- 
viduals in the matter ; and indulging the sympathy 
and sensibility of the moment, to the untoward fate 
and fortune of men of genius, we conceive that we 
have done " all that in us lies" and by generalising 
the idea, we "lay the flattering unction to our 
souls," and escape in sober sadness, upon the old 
true adage, that " what is every body's business is 
no one's." Thus — ' why do they (meaning every 
body) permit it ? How shocking it is to see such 
a man in distress and want ? Why do they not do 
something ? What a disgrace it is to humanity ! 
We are touched and overcome with indignation and 
pity, at the thought ! ' Well, gentlemen !— are 
ye hypocrites to yourselves ? — is nothing to come 
of all this? — is it no business of yours? — do you 
button up your pockel and take a settling pinch of 



314 

snuff, after subscribing a deep sigh, and a melan- 
choly shake of the head ? — The fact is, we never 
identify ourselves with the question, and say, ' Why 
do not i" do something ? ' (however ample our 
means) for that would be bringing the matter home 
to us, and the conscience would call upon us for 
action ; whereas, we are deeply impressed with the 
perfect sentiment — and this we give with free and 
feeling liberality ! 

We thank ye ! — Messrs. Dollond and Herschel, 
in the name of all actual sufferers, beg to acknow- 
ledge the receipt of your favours. 

To the wealthy and avaricious man, our limits 
will only permit us to submit a thought for his pri- 
vate consideration. 

When the accumulation of money becomes the 
sole, unmixed object of life ; or a passion whose 
only aim and hope is for more, it has been truly 
designated as ' mistaking the means, for the end/ 
To any individual, so wretchedly entangled in 
the workings of abortive desire; whose yearnings 
through day and night, incessant apprehension, and 
hungering activity, can only induce a long life's 



315 

round of miserable vacuity, we can only sum up the 
last scene ; point to his body's exit, and show the 
final condition of his mind. What hast thou got ? 
— ' Money ! ' For what purpose ? 4 To gaze upon 
it — hug it — and get more ! ? You have chosen a 
pursuit of continual misery, without any human 
end. Turn back your eye through the dusky 
vista of feverish years, and what, save gasping 
struggles and pain, rise to your memory? But now, 
gaze forward a few poor years, and what see you ? 
Not the good you have done; not the happiness 
you have created for others ; nor even that which 
you foolishly fancied you would yourself enjoy in 
the possession of enormous wealth. You see no 
temple of Mammon, crammed with sufficient gold. 
What see you then ? We will tell you. You see 
your coffin ! — Aye ! the actual black long-box that 
will hold you, like a crossed-out ledger ! Look well 
upon it ! — think of it !— does it not confound all the 
purposes of your life, showing them to be empty as 
itself? They cannot be more so, even when you 
are in it. Is this the sole result of all your 
thoughts and struggles to amass riches ? The inces- 



316 

sant object ends in nothing ! Was it worth the 
painful task of brooding and fretting, and craving 
and cuddling up wealth, in order to earn the only 
true matter of fact epitaph that could be written 
upon your tomb-stone : 6 Here lies a man, without 
his money ! ' 

We have done. To those who are really generous 
we shall not say any thing. They can well under- 
stand all that we would wish to say ; &nd we now 
leave them to act upon their own feelings. 

We confess, however, it has always appeared to us 
one of the cruellest, or at best, the most obtuse, 
anomalies in human nature, that societies, institu- 
tions, and foundations, have been established for 
every thing, but the one which is of the greatest 
importance ; viz. a beacon and a haven for those 
distressed and tossing barks who are the bulwarks 
of the moral world, freighted with intellect for 
posterity. A rich man on his death-bed ; being at 
length quite sure that he cannot take his wealth 
with him ; determines upon a great act of generosity 
and public good : he bequeaths many thousands to 
endow a hospital. Another, almost at his last gasp, 



317 

somewhat less disinterestedly builds a church. A 
hospital is a humane and valuable institution ; but 
does it not seem hard that only the scars and bruises 
of the body are thought worth considering ? The 
founder of a new church — though his real sensation 
under such circumstances, is nothing more than that 
of constructing a bridge from time to eternity — 
would do much better if he gave the sum among 
the numerous poor country curates, who enjoy thirty 
or forty pounds a year, and the society of half a 
dozen children. But although the idea of fame in 
life and posthumous prosperity of a name, by no 
means includes the certainty of a corresponding con- 
ception of the real value or honour attached to an 
act, still it seems only a question of common sense 
in such considerations, whether a man would rather 
have his bust placed in the centre of an Establish- 
ment that would be known and revered all over 
Europe ; or squander away thousands in matters, 
certain to be of the most idle and unimportant na- 
ture, in the eyes of the world, present as well as to 
come, however successful at the time ; and whether 
in after years it would not be bequeathing a nobler 



318 

pride to his descendants, to enable them to point to 
it and say, ' That was our ancestor who founded the 
Establishment* — or, ' Our ancestor had some of the 
very finest horses in England, and on such a day, 
lost twenty thousand pounds upon the Epsom race- 
course ! ' 

It only remains, in conclusion, to address a few 
words to those who are most concerned in the pur- 
pose of the present work. 

In a number of the New Monthly Magazine, 
which contains a notice of the distressing suicide of 
Mr. Fletcher, author of the History of Poland, &c, 
there are some prefatory observations to the follow- 
ing effect : that, c like the admirable recipe for 
dressing a cucumber ; which is, to pare and prune 
it very carefully, slice it with equality, add a due 
portion of oil, vinegar, salt, pepper, &c, and then 
throw the whole, dish and all, behind the ashes; so 
a man of intellect, after labouring for years to form, 
fit, and prepare his mind, and perfect every supe- 
rior faculty to the utmost, has then nothing else to 
do, but to blow his brains out ! 7 — Melancholy — 
monstrous — and true. We are deficient of all 



S19 

worldly means — we have not a scrap of land, a 
coin of money, or a real friend — we expected to 
live by our well-applied intellect — we find, in the 
end, we can only die in the strength of it. Such is 
the case with almost every poor and unconnected 
man of genius. The same writer finishes the notice, 
by recommending a hardy fortification of the heart, 
and the relief of the galled mind by manhood of 
action ; in the ' purchase of a wood-axe and cutting 
your way to the back settlements of America.' A 
bold and masculine thought ; and provided a man 
be not immoveably hemmed in by the claims of a 
large family, few things could be better. We are 
not for having an eagle-spirit move on grub-like 
to disappointment and the grave. The past is a 
hideous theatre of experience, in which hope has 
" strutted and fretted its hour " to no purpose, 
except as a warning ! 

There has been a palpable Fate against all great 
men and works at their first appearance — generally 
pursuing them through life, like a graduated rack, 
to the grave — which nothing but a contingency, 
involving the present passions, interests, or conven- 



320 

tional notions of the moving, temporary mass, has 
ever been able to surmount. Fate, then, is the 
infinitely multiplied and intermixed vice, bad pas- 
sions, prejudice, ignorance, and selfish meanness of 
mankind, acting with circumfluous pressure against 
wisdom and the heart's nobility. Thus surrounded, 
the individual concentrates the idea — even as his 
own power and fortitude to meet it — and personi- 
fies the iron-handed Evil. The results of this have 
been remorselessly proved from time immemorial, 
and though we have only cited a few illustrative 
instances of more modern periods, others innum- 
berable must throng to the " mind^s eye " of the 
public, like wrecks to the memory of Old Ocean. 

If, therefore, the present anticipation of an es- 
tablishment to remedy this, the highest of Time's 
abuses and misdeeds, be negatived by neglect, or 
quelled and set aside as Utopian and Quixotic, by 
those whose " reason panders " to their own meaner 
passions and self-interest, or whatever other base 
cause; and if it appear that mankind are deter- 
mined openly and with palpable admission, that 
men of genius shall be starved or driven through 



321 

the waste of life as heretofore, why nothing remains 
but to direct their fortitude to its best ends, and 
exhort them to the practical wisdom of forestalling 
the world's dismissal, in the sternest manner. 

We can see no other method so good as this. 
Let a man, conscious within himself of real power, 
quietly withdraw himself from the crowded scene, 
the gross market of common things and thoughts. 
It matters not to what country ; for with his own 
free mind and strong heart, and " the army of fixed 
stars " above him, he may say with Bolingbroke 
in his Reflections on Exile, " whilst my soul is 
thus raised up to heaven, it imports me little what 
ground I tread upon." We should rather, how- 
ever, recommend some distant parts of England, 
where the scenery is little inferior in beauty to 
many of the most applauded spots which travellers 
only paint during the summer season ; and where 
communication from the metropolis, when necessary, 
is prompt, and cheap (and will soon be much more 
so) to the chief towns that are nearest to your 
chosen retreat. It is surprising upon how trivial a 
sum a family may live in the picturesque seclusions 



322 

of North and South Wales, Yorkshire, Westmore- 
land, See. Who owns those rocks and streams, 
those smiling valleys, and mountains with their 
shifting robe of light and shade ? The man most 
capable of admiring them ! The pittance in London 
that will barely procure a little food among a stack 
of chimneys, will elsewhere provide double the quan- 
tity of provisions, and a cottage with a " look out " 
beyond all manor grounds. We are not speaking 
upon mere fancy. If no other living instances had 
come under our actual knowledge, we might yet 
adduce those of the country curates, many of whom 
we have known and visited. One of them doing 
" hard duty " in Caernarvonshire, had less than forty 
pounds a year to live upon ; but whose chief literary 
occupation was translating fine passages from Homer 
into the Welsh language ! It pleased him to do 
it ; he never dreamt of publication ; he was 
happy. A man might just as well translate or 
compose an Epic poem in Welsh, as in English, 
for all the good it will do him in his life-time. Such 
has been the old, the very old system. If it is to 
continue ; and we see but the one means we have 



323 

mentioned, for a permanent cure ; what better can 
be done than to give up the preposterous hopes of 
Authorship in time, and leave the brawl of the 
world altogether, Perhaps some may argue, c But 
we cannot live out of the gay and busy throng 
entirely ; it will seem like a premature interment ; 
we cannot leave the world outright, with all its 
happy faces.' We can only answer with a shrug 
of the shoulders, c Oh, very well ; you have not 
had enough ? then remain where you are, in the 
name of common sense. If you are more happy 
here than you would be there, adopt your greatest 
happiness.' 1 It must be seen, however, that we 
speak chiefly of those who have run the course of 
the passions, and arrived at a few definite con- 
clusions. 

The greatest difficulty remains Suppose a man 
to be unpossessed, even of the most trivial means, 
how is this to be obtained? We assume him to 
have great abilities : he must sink, not the con- 
sciousness, but the application of his powers, using 
only the fag end of them in an actual sense, as 
a Hon would his paw or his tail. His provincial 



324 

seclusion cannot be entire, except at his leisure 
hours, and he must set aside all conventional and 
false pride, and all vanity of appearances. The 
personal address of any such individual, if in a 
humble garb, backed by language to the point and 
suited to " his man," we doubt npfc-in the least 
would procure him employment in any civilised 
country, and he would rise in general esteem, and 
with it his emolument, as his unpresuming ability 
became manifest. As an instance, and one that 
stands erect upon the humblest practical grounds; we 
were very intimately acquainted some years ago with 
a gentleman in New York, who having transmitted 
to a relative in England nearly all the money he 
had received in one of the Patriot services, resolved 
to make a tour through North America, with a 
residue that would hardly have sufficed for a fort- 
night in Bath or Brighton. But he was so much 
delighted with the various places he stopped at— 
and at which he stopped but too long (particu- 
larly on the Catskill Mountains and at Niagara), 
that by the time he had reached Upper Canada, he 
found himself fast declining into rather an awkward 



325 

predicament. He knew nobody ; he had no letters ; 
and it would have been very difficult to " hold 
out" while communications passed to and from 
England, even if he could have compromised his will 
upon the occasion. He saw his position and the 
best means of meeting it, and in a tarpaulin hat 
and canvass trousers, he partly paid, and partly 
worked, his passage up the St. Lawrence ; and when 
obliged to remain a short time at any place where 
merchandise was to be shipped, or deposited, he 
presented himself to the master of the store, and 
received two and three dollars per day, and upon 
one occasion, four, for his services on the wharf. 
Perhaps this rate of payment would not have 
continued beyond the period of the emergency; 
yet there was scarce a place at which he stopped 
where he could not have remained had he wished, 
and done very well. In all this there was not 
the least compromise of character — a justification 
rather ; and even while it lasted, the individual 
felt just the same right of being " as proud as 
Lucifer,''' as any living man who ever wore clay. 
He employed his leisure hours in writing sketches 

a 



326 

of travels ; some of wh'ch appeared a few years 
ago, and were much noticed and quoted at large ; 
and occasional poems, from which we extract the 
following :- — 

" Since time devours the petty sovereign ' man ' 
With less reluctance than the forest trees, 
And our successors crowd the gate of birth, 
Ready to snatch our power, and with a crown 
Of starless midnight blank our radiant brows, 
And send us * 1 us away ; since earth has borne 
The mightiest structures which are now mere names, 
Their site disputed, as they had been clouds ; 
Tremendous— ruin'd— vanish'd— and forgotten ; 
Oblivion claiming all imperial rights 
Of dust primeval and the calm green field ; 
While barren vastness holds more realms than man ; 
Why should we waste with unproductive frets 
For worthless things, appearances and shows, 
Our heart's brief pulses ; with false current pride 
Pay tribute to a bloated ignorance, 
Nor see that man is only really great 
By measuring life with Nature's other laws, 
And striving for the harmony of all *." 

This is the common sense of real power. On arriv- 
ing in Nova Scotia, he made no explanation of his 



* From a poem entitled " Reflections of Peter the Great, 
while working in the English dock-yards." 



327 

odd predicament to any of the officers he had intro- 
ductions to ; nor at St. John's, >yhere Sir Howard 
Douglas resided, who was then governor of New 
Brunswick, and to whom he was personally known ; 
and finally obtained, for a small consideration, a 
passage to England in a timber ship, and would 
have had a very pleasant voyage back if the sailors 
had not raised a serious mutiny after they had 
been a week at sea, which was onlf quelled by the 
ship taking fire. As it turned out, nothing could 
be more fortunate. 

A man who has an internal conviction of a thing, 
has some right to insist upon it; though this in- 
cludes no right of insisting upon others having the 
same. From our own experience, both personal 
and in extensive observation, we feel assured, 
that to a man of strong mind and active ability 
(reserving dreams, and the great ideal for his 
private amusement and satisfaction) who will sink 
his false pride in his real, and condense his will to 
meet his circumstances, sufficient respectable em- 
ployment in the remoter parts of England may be 



328 

obtained. Literature is not only out of the ques- 
tion ; it ought to be shunned. 

If we are called upon to meet a finishing ob- 
jection, it must be this. ' Suppose/ as one of 
Job's philosophical friends might say, < suppose 
you have a wife and family, and retire into the 
country without any means of supporting them ; 
that you are unable to get employment of any 
kind ; that nobody will give you anything ; that 
you cannot " borrow/' and will not " steal " — what 
is to become of you ? ' Close reasoning Econo- 
mist, why the man must die, of course, and his 
family be left to providence. He could do no 
worse if he remained all his life to be tormented 
with fertile-futile hopes in the metropolis; but some 
moral logicians are for dealing with human nature, 
as one would with a compound screw, or the piles of a 
bridge. It is a bitter pass we are come to, beyond 
the scalding gall of tears, to find it necessary to 
meet such an objection, and upon such a subject! 
But we had to run the question " close home/' and 
there ends the matter. 



329 

" Babylon is dust !" Rome, a ruin of much name : 
Babel a dream : even as the Pyramids shall be a 
ruin, and dust, and a dream ! But if in solitude, 
with a keen sense of the desolate end of his youth's 
aspirations, the self- exiled man of genius, sad as 
the prophet of old, full to overflowing in heart and 
in mind, yet lonely as Fortitude, cannot suppress 
the yearnings of his soul ; let him at leisure hours, 
set apart from the employment or toil that sustains 
his body, and in its healthful action leaves no long 
intervals for the entrance of the world's feverish 
vanities, ambitions, and their follower, Despair ; 
let him build up a fabric for posterity, grounded 
upon his scorn of individual time. Let him work 
out a deep and broad foundation of elementary 
truths; let him dig from the quarries of Nature 
her antediluvian stores, which ages of human con- 
ventions, customs, and mutabilities, have reversed. 
Let the ponderous corner stones and the base of the 
central pillar, be wrought of sheer and solid huma- 
nity. Let him fashion his materials to the strong 
and polished understanding of modern times — 
avoiding effeminacy as oblivion — according to the 



330 

method manifested by her highest sons ; dismissing 
from his mind all lower grades of excellence, and 
all the vague rumours, errors, and temporary admi- 
rations of the multitude. Let him have firm faith 
in his heart, as in a God-head ; in his imagination, 
as the primitive faculty of all genius ; but let him 
never forget that his reason and judgment must be 
their severe examiner and stern artificer. Then 
from its deep foundations and vast scope, let his 
firm edifice rise in embattled stateliness; adorned 
and replete with power and beauty ; clear as the 
morning light, and placid as the silent pathos of the 
stars, A monument of suffering, and a mastery 
over Fate. The cross — the passion — the divinity ! 
Seek not its publication during life. Bequeath 
it jointly to those public men, whom you have 
long most admired for loftiness in intellect and in 
honour. 

FINIS, 



BRADBURY AND EVANS, WHITEFRIARS. 
(LATE T. DAVISON-) 



